Lords, Save Me From The Empyreans
by L Zaza
Summary: Starbuck's life is like an out of control Viper ride in this continuing saga. 3rd in the Empyrean Series.
1. Chapter 1

_How do you get yourself into these messes, Starbuck?_ Oh sure, it had started as a simple favour to Luana. Lords, they had barely spoken for a sectar after the ill-fated trip to Alrin. Starbuck had known he had hurt Lu badly when he had retreated back to Cassie's arms as he lay seriously injured while strapped to a hover stretcher on a shuttle. However, the pain in Cassie's voice as she explained the _affliction_ _that was_ _loving Starbuck_ to Luana had hit him hard. He knew in that moment that he needed to do some serious growing up if he was going to make a success of their relationship.

To his credit, he had been an attentive mate to Cassiopeia since then. He had even backed off on his natural tendency to flirt incessantly with every warm-blooded, semi-attractive female that passed close enough to him to start his heart pounding just one, two or twenty-seven beats quicker than it had the moment before he noticed that particular perfume that had always put a smile on his face and covered him in a warm glow of . . . _What the frack was that anyhow?_

Well, whatever it was it enveloped him now. Yeah, in fact it enveloped him so fracking thoroughly that his body told him it was making up for a decided lack of that special something that had really been a part of him for a very long time. Lords, that little voice in the back of his mind that had reminded him each time he started to say something flirtatious to a woman, other than Cassie, had been positively oppressive. _Maybe, it just isn't natural, Bucko, to go without flirting. It plays havoc with a guy's bio-pulse lines, after all._

He reminded himself that though he and Cassie seemed to be back on track with their personal relationship, the rest of his life had taken an unusual turn. His famous luck had completely deserted him. He hadn't had a decent hand of cards since . . . well, coincidentally, since he had stopped flirting. And lately when he played triad with Apollo he looked more like a lumbering troglodyte than the hotshot athlete he had always been. Apollo had told him patiently that he was still recovering from his injuries and it would come. Still, Apollo hated to lose as much as Starbuck, so he wasn't fooling his best friend when he tried to be understanding and supportive about frequently missed shots, sloppy blocks and too many penalties. The thing that had really hit Starbuck was just the other day instead of touching down as he landed his Viper, he had bounced her. Bounced! He hadn't made a landing like that since he was a first yahren Cadet. _Face it, Bucko, that was almost as bad as your first simulated landing back at the Academy_. Well, maybe not, but it sure seemed that way when all systems were go and he simply had no excuse for it. He could console himself that no one else had noticed, but he was his own worst critic when it came to his skills as a pilot.

Yeah, somehow he had lost his . . . Starbuck-ness. How could a little thing like flirting be so related to everything else that was essentially him? That was it! He had lost his _essence_! Frack, his body was telling him right now his very essence was hinging on what would happen next as those dark eyes stared down at him, looking at him with desire, determination and something else that he couldn't quite read.

It had started innocently enough. Luana wanted to become a part of the increasingly popular league of women triad players. Of course, being Luana, she wanted to be just as good as the rest of the seasoned veterans _before_ she started. Enter Starbuck. He knew he owed her big for their failed romantic liaison, so he didn't hesitate when the young woman he had once thought of as a little sister had asked him to coach her privately.

Yeah, that was how he had come to find himself pinned beneath the lithe, beautiful woman that he had shared some of the most passionate kisses of his life with in the wilderness of Alrin. His heart was pounding so hard he was sure she could hear it, as she leaned slowly towards him with that felix-that-caught-the-avian look on her features. His breath caught in his throat as he watched the tip of her tongue languidly wet her lips.

How the triad lesson had evolved into him being pinned beneath her, he wasn't sure. He had been showing her one of his new moves that would get her parsecs ahead of the others providing she could master it. It was a difficult shot that took determination, practice, upper body strength and a steady hand, all of which Luana had. She had been astounded when for about fifteen consecutive shots he had simply _hooked_ his shot over her attempt at a block and scored. That was the beauty of it really. Unless your opponent was three metrons high, they couldn't stop it. However, the form required to maintain the extension of your arm while jumping and delivering the triad ball on target each time was difficult . . . especially for a woman.

Even back on Caprica Starbuck had never seen a woman successfully score consecutive hook shots in triad. Really, there weren't even that many men who used the shot anymore. It probably had something to do with the fact that most professional triad players had ended up being genetic mutants. The players had started off at an average height yahrens ago, but somehow the hyperfunctioning pituitary cases had taken over the sport. It had become more a game of height than skill. Thank the Lords, there were plenty of amateur leagues where the level of play was exceptionally high. Frankly, Starbuck figured that he and Apollo could have given Metal Arc and Curl Lee a run for their cubits when they were both in top form.

Yeah, the classic and rarely used hook shot had him in serious trouble this time. Well, if you were trying to teach the shot to someone, you had to be close enough to either shoot over them if you were the offense, or to block if you were the defense. Face it; triad was a full contact sport. Well, full contact was exactly what he was getting now as Luana stretched her lean, scantily clad figure over his equally underdressed form in the middle of the deserted triad court.

Looking back, Luana had just landed her first point using the hook shot. She had launched herself into his arms shouting in glee and Starbuck had laughed out loud at her joy. Suddenly and inexplicably she had hooked her foot behind his and given him a gentle push. He had toppled onto his astrum in total surprise. However, it didn't stop there. The next thing he knew she was laying on top of him with a feral smile on her face and purring, "So, tell me what kind of defensive posture I should take if this happens."

It wasn't so much that he was physically pinned beneath her. Hades, he outweighed her significantly. Luana was a long, slender, young woman whose body was well toned from yahrens of recreational activity. She was a natural athlete, much like Starbuck, and her grace of movement reflected that. Yet somehow he was immobilized beneath her. That niggling little voice was screaming at him to move. Klaxons were going off in all cranial lobes, but still he was frozen to the spot. It was as if she were a mysterious siren with mystical powers that had been sent to ensnare him.

No, it wasn't a physical snare by any means. It was purely psychological. Her eyes were mesmerizing and as he dragged his gaze away to look anywhere but into their depths, he could see a faint pulsation at her slender neck and knew her heart was beating as quickly as his own. There was a fine trickle of sweat running down her neck and he briefly recalled the tantalizing taste of her skin. Oh, frack, he was in trouble! His body ached to pull her to him and reacquaint himself with her touch.

It was like he was going through withdrawal and was suddenly presented with his drug of choice. He had all the symptoms. Elevated heart rate, flushed skin, agitation, and delirium. Yeah, delirium was definitely setting in. It must be for him to even consider tasting those lips that were drawing closer to his own. He knew if they kissed they would be swept up in a passion that was so intense that nothing would stop it . . . _well, other than the paralyzing agony of blood trying to make its way out of your kidney and through tight urinary passages, Bucko_. Yeah, that was what it had taken to cool their ardour when they had come together on Alrin.

"I need you." Luana whispered huskily. "No commitments, no expectations, no kiss and tell." She stared into his intense blue eyes. His body was taut with tension. She knew he was holding onto his self-control by a thread. As much as she had tried to move on, she had been unable to do so. She had dated every available single male and even a couple attached ones, just to raise the stakes a little. Still, she couldn't get over Starbuck. Luana had kissed every convenient man in the fleet looking for the same degree of passion she had felt when she had connected with Starbuck on Alrin. It just wasn't there. She had tried to remember everything Cassiopeia and Athena had told her about Starbuck being a bad bet, but Lords, if you didn't place your bet, you'd never have a chance at winning the pot! Starbuck had taught her that sectars ago. Well, whose advice should she follow in things concerning Starbuck, his ex's or his own? Yeah, well maybe her logic was a little convoluted, but then desperate times called for desperate measures. She nipped at his lower lip and felt his body react beneath her. Oh, she had missed that feeling of power she had when his body betrayed itself due to a simple touch. _Her _touch.

Starbuck could feel his convictions fleeing with the speed of recon Viper one. What was it about this woman that caused him to act like a schoolboy every time she pressed her body against his? He didn't remember deciding to encircle her in his arms and pull her close, but he had. Maybe it was some residual effect of the Empyrean Curse? Maybe he should have worn his Empyrean Talisman to protect him? Maybe he hadn't fully explored the depths of his emotions for this compelling woman . . . no, no, that can't be it! Why did he always get in so much trouble when he was around Empyreans?

_Lords, save me from the Empyreans, _he thought as he was swept away by a consuming passion for the woman he well and truly . . .


	2. Chapter 2

It was everything Luana had ever imagined and more. Sometimes the biggest pay offs in life could come from betting everything when the odds were against you. She grinned to herself as she recalled the subtle thought that had turned into her cunning and evil plot to seduce Starbuck. How could she get him to herself in a seemingly innocent and innocuous situation. Triad was perfect. Honestly she hadn't been that interested in the sport until her little idea had come to her. Ama had warned her that women tended to make fools of themselves over the men they love.

Well, that was her problem. She loved Starbuck. It wasn't just an innocent crush which everyone had assumed when she and Starbuck had become romantically entangled on Alrin. Well, she might have thought that too until she realized she was still comparing him to every man she dated. Yeah, she had a long list of men whose eyes weren't blue enough, who didn't share her love of gambling; who thought her job was too dangerous; who didn't have a dry sense of humour; who were too short or too tall; who were simply _not_ Starbuck.

Now as she lay on the blue mats in the equipment room, snuggled up against the man she loved, she replayed the last couple centars in her mind. Though their love making had been passionate, he had been gentle and considerate in every way. It was almost like he could read her mind as he made her feel like a Goddess by worshipping her body and soul as her devotee. Luana smiled ruefully at her analogy. Oh, she could definitely throw herself wholeheartedly into this new religion. She had giggled when he had lifted her from the court deck and carried her into the tiny equipment room where they had continued to play out their fiery encounter. She had totally forgotten they were in the middle of a public area where anyone could walk in on them, she was so caught up in unbelievable emotions and sensations.

Luana could feel her flesh tingle where Starbuck had started to slowly run his fingers over her waist and down to her hip, tracing a languorous path back and forth. She looked up at him from where her head rested on his chest. He seemed to be deep in thought, but his features were relaxed. She was pleasantly surprised to find he seemed to be in no apparent hurry to move. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him how much she loved him, but she held back. She had promised him no commitments. Lu wasn't about to scare him away now by going back on that.

"Whatcha thinking?" Luana asked him and she ran her hand lightly across his chest.

Starbuck grinned. "I might scare you if I told you," he replied as he gazed into her brown eyes.

Luana smiled in return. "Does it have anything to do with making love to me?"

"Everything," he replied as he pulled her close and kissed her.

Lords, he felt like a kid again. What was it about this woman that could make him want to spend the night locked in an equipment room near the Galactica's Triad courts? Really he should have moved on from encounters in public areas by now. Luana had told him she wasn't looking for a relationship; no commitments, no expectations, no kiss and tell. The problem was he wasn't sure what she was looking for. Hades, this had been her first time with a man. He wasn't quite prepared for that, especially with all the rumours he had heard about her dating every available man in the fleet.

Voices from the corridor permeated his consciousness as he pulled Luana close to his chest and whispered, "Shh . . . ". Starbuck could feel Luana tense while she listened to the man and woman talking, as they passed by. There was a slight slur to the woman's voice as she giggled and chattered.

"Uh . . . could be we're not the only ones to use the facilities for romance." Lu whispered to him. She smiled as he grinned at her in response and nodded his agreement.

Starbuck thanked the Lords he had the prescience to bring their clothing with them. Frankly, it would have looked a little bit suspicious to see two sets of discarded triad uniforms in the middle of the court and a steamed up window on the door of the equipment room. He pushed Lu gently from him and reached for their clothes, handing Luana hers.

Suddenly, the pitch of the unknown woman's voice changed. She shrieked. Her voice was abruptly muffled.

Starbuck quickly pulled on his shorts. With a vague thought that Luana had at least one more piece of clothing to pull on before she could burst through the door, he dashed down the short corridor to the triad court.


	3. Chapter 3

What Starbuck saw as he entered the _Galactica_'s triad court made his blood boil. Two large men, one with a shock of short red hair, and the other platinum blond with the strangest blue tips, had wrestled the helpless woman to the deck. 'Red' held a hand over her mouth while the other ran his gruff hands over her body, tearing at her clothes. She whimpered in terror through the burly man's hand as she stared up at her assailants.

Starbuck quickly covered the short distance between them as he used his body weight and the element of surprise to knock the blue-tipped blond to the deck. The man flew a metron before hitting the surface hard after Starbuck collided with him full force. The other man looked up in shock at their barely dressed attacker, and was unprepared for the speed with which Starbuck rolled back to his feet and caught him under the chin with an uppercut.

Starbuck could hear the man's jaw snap shut as his blow connected. There was a satisfying _crunch_ as the man was propelled upwards and then backwards by the warrior's blow.

"Starbuck!" Luana called out as she entered the court still fastening her top, only to see an enormous cretin advancing on him from the rear.

Starbuck feinted and pivoted to feel a glancing blow on his side, as the walking landram's arm passed between them. The warrior grabbed the meaty arm and pulled hard. That, combined with the man's own momentum, caused him to tumble to the deck once again. Starbuck delivered a powerful kick to the man's gut, which caused him to double up in pain. There were no rules of engagement when you fought scumbags like them.

"Call Security, Lu!" Starbuck directed her as he turned to ensure the other man was still lying on the deck. The man was supporting his jaw, which Starbuck was fairly certain was broken. He glared at the warrior and searched the court for a way out. "You're not going anywhere, pal, except to the nearest brig." Starbuck told him as he watched Luana enter the corridor to the locker rooms, where he knew there was a comm unit.

The dark-haired woman inched herself backwards on her bottom across the court towards the exit. Her blue eyes were wide with fear, as she watched all three men while trying to cover her body with her torn clothing. She pushed her long hair back off her face.

Starbuck raised his hands in front of him and moved slowly towards her, "It's okay. I'm a Colonial Warrior. I'm not going to hurt you," he told her gently and was rewarded with a guarded nod, as she wrapped her slender arms around herself protectively and started rocking, tears flowing silently down her cheeks.

He again turned to check his quarries, who were still on the deck looking stunned. Starbuck didn't exactly feel confident about keeping the men subdued unless Luana made it back quickly and brought her laser. After all, they outweighed him significantly and he wasn't exactly an intimidating figure standing there dressed in his triad shorts. Besides that, the foot he had used to kick the cretin was throbbing. Yeah, shoes would have been a nice luxury. He looked around for anything he could use as a weapon should it become necessary.

The men suddenly moved as one, both regaining their feet, having obviously exchanged some kind of signal while the warrior was speaking to the woman. Apparently, it wasn't the first time they had worked together. They lunged for him at the same time.

Starbuck grabbed the only weapon close to him, the triad ball. He hurled it straight at the face of the redheaded man with the broken jaw. His aim was true as the man howled in pain when the projectile smashed him hard on the chin. About the same time the cretin was upon him, knocking him bodily to the deck much as Starbuck had done to him mere moments before.

_You really should focus less on your 'follow through' while throwing a triad ball as a weapon_, Starbuck noted as he tried to regain the breath that had just been knocked from his lungs by the bruiser sitting on him. He felt the goon's hands wrap around his throat and immediately thrust his thumbs into his attacker's eyes.

The man screamed and reflexively reached towards his eyes in agony. That was the opening Starbuck needed to deliver a quick jab to the man's jaw. There wasn't a lot of power behind the blow, due to the fact that he was lying flat on his back, but the man again yelled in pain. He keeled over on his side, now covering his face protectively with his hands, as blood ran through his fingers from his nose.

From his peripheral vision, Starbuck saw a flash of dark material leaving the court. He turned his head to find the woman had fled. Obviously, she had less faith in his capabilities as a fighter than he did. He rolled in the opposite direction of the human landram and jumped to his feet to find himself face to face with goon number one again. These guys were starting to get annoying.

The goon swung a beefy fist at Starbuck, which he easily evaded as he agilely stepped back out of the way. A good general rule when he fought giants was to stay out of the way of their fists. It was best to use their own size and weight against them . . . unless, of course, you had your laser and then things were less complicated.

"I'm going to tear you apart!" The red-haired man sputtered, bloody spittle on his lips, as he advanced on the warrior.

Starbuck couldn't help but think that the guy seemed to be living in some kind of an alternative reality, as he held his hands up protectively in front of himself and tried to look worried.

The man grinned at the surrendering posture. The supposed warrior was backing up slowly as he stalked him. One good hit to the jaw and the practically naked man would hit the deck and not get up. The goon swung hard and quick with his right hand and was astonished when he only hit air. To his further surprise, the warrior advanced on him and head butted him right between the eyes. The world went black.

Starbuck smiled with satisfaction looking down at his victim. Suddenly, strong arms came around him from behind, trapping his right arm against his chest and squeezing his neck as though he was a tube of dental cleanser. He felt himself lifted up off the deck as the pressure on his throat increased. He tried to kick backwards, but couldn't connect with any force due to his newly acquired levitation. He clutched at the meaty forearm with his free hand, but was unable to dislodge it. He felt as though his neck would snap and the pressure on his spine increased, as his attacker pulled the warrior tightly against him, squeezing the very life out of him.

"Drop him!" Luana shouted as she ran into the court to see a red-faced Starbuck struggling for breath. His eyes were beginning to roll up into his head as he fought with his last bit of strength for a precious breath.

The roaring in Starbuck's ears was only outdone by the pressure on his neck. He could feel his grip on the scumbag loosen as his conscious mind surrendered and retreated into the comparative safety of blissful anaesthesia.


	4. Chapter 4

"I said, drop him!" Luana repeated and she watched in horror as Starbuck begin to slump to the deck. His head hit the deck with a loud _thunk_. She took a bead on the goon and her finger began to tighten on the trigger.

The goon who had released Starbuck actually looked surprised when his victim dropped limply to the floor of the court. "I . . . uh . . . I didn't mean to . . . " _Oh frack_. Termination charges weren't what he had in mind when he took on this job.

"Move back, you miserable piece of festering felgercarb!" Luana yelled as she approached menacingly. To have just spent the most magical centars with the man she loved only to have him killed in a freak mishap that didn't even involve them . . .

Loud footfalls approached from the locker rooms and the walking landram backed away from the fallen warrior, his eyes flickering towards the entrance. "If you so much as move a muscle, I'll blow your fracking head off." Luana threatened as she kneeled down beside Starbuck who was half on his side with his legs bent beneath him. She quickly checked for a pulse. It was thready, but present.

"Man down!" A familiar voice shouted.

Luana looked over her shoulder to see two Security Officers running towards them with lasers drawn. She turned back to Starbuck, lying him flat on his back.

"Does he have a pulse?"

Luana looked up into Reece's eyes. "Yes, but he's not breathing!" Even though she had been taught rescue breathing and resuscitation, she had never had to perform it on anyone before, and certainly not on her lover. She had only been this terrified once before. That was when her sister, Lia, had drowned in a raging river on Empyrean and Starbuck had saved her.

Without hesitation, Reece repositioned Starbuck's head and began mouth to mouth resuscitation. "Monitor his pulse, " he told Luana between breaths.

Luana quickly put her fingers on his neck and found the still thready pulse. "Still there," she reported. She prayed that the bile rising in her throat wouldn't make it any further.

Two breaths was all it took for Starbuck to gasp and cough. His hand flew to his throat and he just about head-butted Reece as he reflexively sat up straight, gasping for air.

"Easy there, fella." Reece put a hand on his shoulder and steadied him. He called over his shoulder to his partner, "The rescue breathing worked. Still, we better call a med team."

Starbuck looked around in confusion. The last thing he remembered was being grabbed from behind and Luana's voice screaming at the goon to release him. His neck ached, his head pounded and he looked up to see Reece staring down at him with a stunned expression on his face.

"Starbuck?" Reece asked. By all that's holy, he had just done mouth to mouth on Lieutenant Starbuck! Lords, he'd never live this down. He wiped at his lips reflexively.

Starbuck gaped back at him just as astonished. "Reece?" he managed to croak out. "You . . . didn't?" He touched his mouth. Lords, he didn't feel so good! Just the mere thought of the man's lips touching his own. Oh, frack, he was gonna . . .

And he did.

"Oh, frack!" Reece jumped back as Starbuck's stomach heaved. "Call a medic!"

"NO!" Starbuck vehemently argued between gagging and sputtering.

"Uh, we're going to require a med tech for these guys once we get them to the brig. Maybe we could make do with a sanitation technician until then." Willem suggested with a tentative smile. Reece's partner had taken both men into custody and was watching from a safe distance.

"Starbuck, you stopped breathing. We have to get you checked out." Luana told him. She wanted to throw herself into his arms, but she had promised him no commitments or expectations.

"I'm fine." Starbuck argued. Cassiopeia was on duty. No way in Hades Hole was he going to show up practically naked with Luana at his side. Yeah, he knew he'd have to have a talk with Cassie sooner or later, but now was not the time. In fact, _later_ was looking really good.

"Uh . . . we need a statement, Starbuck." Reece told him. "What happened?"

"Lu?" Starbuck looked up at her. He really wasn't up for this right now.

"Uh . . . well, we were . . . playing triad . . . obviously." She felt her face flush. She really wasn't up for this right now.

"Kinda late for triad, isn't it?" Reece asked. He had already noticed their state of undress. After all, this was _Starbuck_.

"We got the last court time." Starbuck coughed. He massaged his aching throat as he started to get up. _Frack. Frack. Frack._ "I was in the locker room . . . when I heard a woman scream."

Luana grabbed his arm and caught the quick look he gave her as he rose shakily to his feet. "You all right?" she asked.

"Yeah," he replied. If possible, his head was pounding even more now that he was standing.

"And?" Reece asked.

"I pulled my shorts back on and ran in here." Starbuck told him.

"Did you hear anything before the scream?" Willem asked.

"Uh . . . yeah, some . . . talking." Starbuck replied looking at Luana.

"So did I when they passed by . . . the Ladies' locker room." She told them. "I heard the scream, but it took me a moment longer to get . . . presentable. Starbuck was already engaged with those two monstrosities when I arrived. The woman was on the floor, her clothing torn. She was crying and terrified."

"Woman? What did she look like?" the Security Officers asked.

Starbuck briefly described her. "She was thin; about thirty; long, dark hair; blue eyes; torn, white dress. I don't know who she was, but they were on top of her. Two behemoths against one woman." Starbuck looked at the men with disgust. "I came between them."

"Why didn't you bring your laser?" Reece asked Starbuck suddenly. "If you were in the locker room?"

"It was locked in my locker across the room. I was just about to have a turbo wash. I guess I just reacted instinctively. Thought it would take too long to grab my weapon." Starbuck paused in thought. "I also thought she would be with one man. I could have sworn it was a couple—a man and a woman—that I heard." Starbuck replied. The lies rolled easily off his tongue, but he was already regretting he had started this charade.

"And yours? In your locker too?" Reece asked Luana skeptically.

"Yes, I ran back for it when I realized that there were two of them. Starbuck seemed to be holding his own, but I knew we needed help . . . and a weapon." Luana responded. She held Reece's searching gaze. After all, that was the truth.

"Where did the woman go?" Willem asked as he restrained the detainees.

"I don't know." Luana said. "By the time I commed you guys and grabbed my laser, she was already gone."

"She left when I was fighting these two bruisers." Starbuck commented.

"Well, I guess we need a statement from them now." Reece muttered as he looked at the men. The unconscious man was coming around. He cradled his jaw in his hand and wiped at the bloody saliva dripping down his chin as he blinked furiously trying to clear his vision. The larger man with the strange blue hair held his nose as blood oozed out of it. His eyes were beginning to bruise already. Reece found it hard to believe that the lieutenant had taken them both on and was still standing. They looked familiar to the Security Officer. He was certain he had seen their mug shots on the Security Office database. Besides that, he had a fairly good idea where they usually worked.

"Hey, I don't know anything about a woman. This guy just attacked us out of the blue!" the landram told them.

"Yeah, sure he did." Reece returned. He already knew this statement would be a total fabrication of the real events. As much as he was no friend of Starbuck's, he knew the Colonial Warrior was honest and honourable . . . oh, maybe with a hint of chicanery, but still, he was generally a moral individual. His eyes flickered to the ensign. Okay, maybe Starbuck's moral fortitude didn't extend to his relationships, but, Hades, that woman looked to be worth the risk!

Luana felt the Security Officer's eyes upon her and stared back evenly. It wasn't the first time she had seen that particular look on a man's face. She even saw the look of envy he sent Starbuck's way as his gaze dropped from her own. No. They weren't fooling anyone with their lies.

"Yeah, that's right. In fact, I want to press charges against this maniac. I think he broke my jaw!" the slightly smaller man declared, rubbing a hand through his bristly red hair.

"Is that all?" Starbuck replied in disappointment. His eyes flashed angrily at the man. "Let's have another round. Maybe I can do better next time."

"Any time, Bub." The man declared. He glared at the warrior as if to insinuate that 'any time' would come sooner rather than later.

"That's enough." Willem told them. "Let's get these two to the brig. Lieutenant, you really should report to Life Station. It _is_ procedure."

Starbuck rolled his eyes at the truth in the man's words. Yeah, it was procedure all right. Apparently, command had a problem with their warriors flying expensive, technologically sophisticated fighters when they had stopped breathing or bounced their heads off the deck. He briefly met Willem's eyes and nodded.

"You know we have to forward a report to the Strike Captain." Reece reminded Starbuck. He knew the man had a stubborn streak, but Captain Apollo would check to ensure his subordinate had followed procedure.

"I know." Starbuck told him. Any civil disruptions that Security would normally have jurisdiction over also became the business of the military when Colonial Warriors were involved.

"You guys don't have anything on us. It's just our word against theirs." The landram told them as Willem pushed them towards the exit.

Starbuck noticed Reece stiffen in return. "Is that true?"

"Depends on whether or not we find the woman. Are you sure you don't know her? Haven't even seen her around?" Reece asked again.

"No, I don't think so." Frack, a battlestar was like a city. She could be anywhere.


	5. Chapter 5

"Let me come with you." Luana insisted as she walked with Starbuck from the Fitness Center and the triad court towards the Life Station. After giving a statement to Security and then having a turbo wash, it was getting late. Still, the Life Station was definitely on Starbuck's 'to do' list if he was going to make patrol the next morning.

"Lu, Cassie is on duty. I . . . don't want to deal with . . . " he paused, not sure what to say.

Luana nodded. "Look, Starbuck, I already told you, I'm not expecting any commitment from you. You don't have to say anything to Cassiopeia if you don't want to." She watched carefully as an array of emotions flickered across his face. The prominent one was surprise.

It hadn't occurred to Starbuck to _not_ tell Cassiopeia. Lords, he was obviously losing his edge. He had officially become responsible. He stopped and considered the young woman before him. Luana was watching him calmly. She meant what she said. Still, there was something behind those dark, brown eyes that he just couldn't put his finger on. If their roles were reversed, he would say she had her card playing face on.

"You don't want me to tell her?" he asked her, as much to clarify his position as to probe her façade.

"Do what you want to, Starbuck." Luana grinned and winked at him. "Personally, I think it would be silly for you to tell Cassiopeia. Especially in the Life Station. After all, she could turn your examination into one miserable experience." She chuckled as she started walking beside him once again.

Well, that was true enough. Cassiopeia had done that before when she had been angry at him for kissing Lady Aurelia at the Empyrean Ball. Lords, that seemed like ages ago now.

Luana could see he was mulling it all over. He was still stunned that she wasn't asking him to make a choice. That was the fatal mistake that Athena had made. She wanted all or nothing. Luana could wait for 'all' if it meant she could have a piece of him now. She would work on 'all' later. It was the 'nothing' she knew she couldn't live with. She had tried.

"Are you sure about this?" Starbuck asked her. There was something so . . anti-female about this whole thing. Never had Starbuck slept with a woman who hadn't expected . . . _something _in return. Commitment usually. At the very least a nice dinner.

Luana nodded at him matter-of-factly. "I'm sure. Look, I think I should come with you. Cassiopeia would wonder why I didn't otherwise. She knows I care about you. It would look more suspicious to her if I just went back to the billet."

Starbuck stopped in his tracks as he thought about her words. Frack, she was right. Cassie would think it was strange if Luana didn't escort him there. Ah, Hades, this was so bizarre. He had assumed that Luana was interested in having a relationship with him. Maybe not. But . . . it was her first time! A one night stand for your first time? Not unusual with a man, but with a woman?

His thoughts swirled around his head in a tangled mess. It was as if everything he had known for certain about women up to that point had suddenly changed . . . but no one had shown him the new procedure manual. He felt Lu take his hands in her own and became aware that she was staring up at him with concern on her lovely face.

"Hey, are you all right?" Luana asked him. Oh, she had either shaken him to the core with her assertion that he needn't tell Cassie . . . or he was truly injured.

"Uh, yeah. I'm okay." Starbuck replied. Maybe she hadn't enjoyed their lovemaking as much as he had. Lords, perhaps he should have taken more time . . .

"C'mon, I don't know about you, but I have early duty tomorrow." Luana told him as she grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the Life Station and Cassiopeia.


	6. Chapter 6

"Cassiopeia," Luana said as she entered the Life Station. "I've brought you a patient."

Cassie looked up from where she was tending another patient. The man's head bobbed as he smiled drunkenly at her while she examined the gouge in his forehead. She started when she saw who her newest admission was and a perplexed expression crossed her face. "Did Luana injure you in triad?" A slight smile hovered on her lips as she tried to imagine the slender young woman rib blocking Starbuck.

"No." Starbuck denied as he moved over to the bio-bed which she indicated and sat down. "It was after our practice. We interrupted an attack on a woman. I . . . bumped my head."

"And stopped breathing. Reece had to give him mouth to mouth. I heard his head impact with the deck when he lost consciousness." Luana told her.

"I know how you feel, mate," the drunken man commented from his biobed.

"Anything else, Luana?" Cassie asked as she ran her bio scanner over the lieutenant, while ignoring her other patient. The drunk could wait.

"Well, he gagged a bit when he realized that the Black Shirt was locking lips with him, but that was really pretty minor." Luana explained with a smirk.

"Shouldn't you ask me?" Starbuck asked the med tech a bit resentfully. "I'm the patient."

"You bumped your head. You told me." Cassie replied. "Look up, " she stated as she shone a light in his eyes. "How long were you in respiratory arrest?"

"Huh?" Starbuck replied, blinking as the light blinded him momentarily.

"It was only a couple breaths, Cassiopeia. Not even a half a centon." Luana told her.

"Respiratory arrest? That sounds serious." Starbuck muttered.

"Of course, it's serious! You stopped breathing! Why do you think I dragged you here?" Luana shook her head at him.

Cassie smiled as she heard Luana assure her in one breath that they had only lost him for mere microns, and in the next, tell Starbuck off for not taking it seriously enough.

"I feel fine." Starbuck argued for the sake of . . . arguing. He suddenly felt outnumbered. It was amazing how two women could suddenly join forces against the lone male in any given situation.

"Okay, lie down. Any headache? Dizziness? Confusion?" Cassie asked him.

"I have all three, honey. Come back over here." The inebriate told her.

"No." Starbuck denied as he shot an annoyed glance at his fellow patient while assuming a supine position. It was more of a head-throb than a headache. Ache was not strong enough a word. A couple T3's, and he'd be fine. Just fine. A little head-throb need not come between him and his Viper.

"How did it happen?" Cassie continued her questioning as she did a thorough examination, running through the systems one by one until she was reassured from both a professional and personal point-of-view that he was really fine.

Luana did most of the talking as she relayed the story, so the med tech deduced her man had one Hades of a headache, despite his denial. She threw a patient gown at him and pulled the curtain, so she could do a complete assessment of any other injuries he might have received while fighting the attackers.

"Is he okay?" Luana asked. She had kept the mood light as she told Cassie what had happened, but she was still shaken from the incident.

"He seems to be." Cassiopeia reassured her. "I just need to check him from head to toe for the records. I'm qualified to clear him for duty tomorrow, but I have to be meticulous with my assessment. Thanks for bringing him by, Lu. And thanks for telling me the truth about what happened." Cassie briefly squeezed the young woman's hand as she met her eye.

Luana nodded dumbly. Hades, this wasn't going to be as easy as she had thought. Honestly, she liked Cassie. Luana just thought that Starbuck would be happier with her. It was simple really. He needed someone who wouldn't stifle him. Someone who could understand him and accept him for who he truly was. Luana smiled_. Yeah, just keep trying to convince yourself of that, girl. It'll make you feel better._

"I'll make sure he gets back to the billet." Cassiopeia assured her. "You go on and get some rest."

"Okay. If you're sure he's okay." Luana nodded. She tried to put herself back in the role of 'concerned friend'.

Cassie gently pushed her towards the door as she heard Starbuck's boots hit the floor. "I'm sure."


	7. Chapter 7

Starbuck draped the ridiculous swath of material that the Life Station had the audacity to call clothing, over his lap. In his experience, no sooner did a warrior pull the scrap of cloth over his shoulders and get the fracking thing to barely cover him, then a doctor or med tech was in there pulling it off again. Besides, this was Cassiopeia. She had seen all there was to see.

"Are you ready?" Cassie asked as she pulled aside the privacy curtain.

"For what exactly?" he smiled at her, but his smile faded as he heard a snort come from his roommate.

"Lords . . . " she muttered as she looked at him. She could already see the yellowish and purple tinges that foretold the bruises to come as she moved over to him. "Couldn't have brought your laser, could you?"

"It was in my locker. You don't think I leave it lying around unsecured anymore, do you?" Starbuck asked.

Cassie shook her head absently, knowing he was referring to when his weapon had been 'borrowed' to kill Ortega. "Does this hurt?" She pressed on a laceration on his arm that looked as though it needed laser mending. The area was reddened and could probably do with a good cleaning.

"No," he replied. It was nothing really. Just a scratch. He could feel her wipe it thoroughly with something cool and comforting.

"By the way, we're having dinner with Giselle and Mack tomorrow night. They got engaged. Just a little celebratory dinner." She grabbed the laser. "Don't move. I'm just going to seal this."

Starbuck paused as he felt a mild tingling sensation from the laser as it healed his laceration. "Cass, I can't tomorrow night." He felt her pause and then resume her ministrations.

"Why not?"

"I have a card game tomorrow night." Starbuck replied.

"C'mon Starbuck. Giselle just got engaged. Surely that's more important than a card game." She sounded a little annoyed. After all, the other med tech had become a good friend.

"I'm sure it is _to Giselle_. Hades, Cass, it took me three sectons to organize this game. You don't know the maneuvers I had to go through to get all the guys off at the same time." Sure enough, he had had to juggle rosters so often that even Apollo was getting suspicious at the frequency with which requests for 'changes of shift' due to bereavement, illness, or special occasions had arrived on the captain's desk. All requests had been personally organized by the lieutenant so the good captain didn't necessarily notice that tomorrow night at 2000 centars, most of Starbuck's good friends. . . at least those who dabbled in a little innocuous gambling . . . would be off to partake in the game of the sectar.

"I thought you agreed we would make more of an effort to do things together as a couple." Cassie told him.

"Lords, Cass, you don't like to play cards." Starbuck replied, deliberately obtuse.

Cassiopeia leaned back to consider him. She knew when he got like this, there was no winning. "How long is your game going to be?"

"Depends how long my stake lasts." He grinned at her. "I'm planning on going the distance."

"Maybe we could make it an early dinner then?" Cassie suggested. "What time is the game?"

"Uh . . . look, I still need to nail down the location. I have a few possibilities just in case the colonel gets wind of this, but it really comes down to the last centon." He also still needed to confirm the shipment of Empyrean Ale that Ama had promised him. Oh, and to pick up a few fumarellos at the same time.

"What about a luncheon?"

"Can't. I have early patrol and then Apollo and I have a triad practice." He had arranged the triad practice following the patrol just so the captain would be inclined to spend some quality time with Boxey in the evening. Apollo had a good idea something was up, but was less likely to follow up on it if he expended some energy on triad and then was deeply involved in being a good father. It was the perfect plan.

"Sounds like a shut out." Cassie complained.

"It will be if I don't get my act together on the court." Starbuck commented as his mind wandered back to his abysmal performance in triad of late.

"Starbuck, I'm trying to reach a compromise, but you're not exactly being . . . accommodating." She reminded him of their discussion.

"I already have plans. I'm committed." He replied. She was like a daggit with its favourite bone.

"That's a laugh." She replied bitterly.

His eyes dropped from hers. If she only knew the truth. Starbuck took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Cass . . . "

"I don't want to do this right now." She said abruptly.

"Do what?" he looked up in surprise.

"Argue with you." Cassiopeia replied.

"Were we arguing?" he asked.

Cassie sighed. "Sometimes you make me feel like I'm the only one putting anything into this relationship."

"Dump him, Sweetie!" The inebriated voice suddenly shouted out from behind the other curtain.

"What?" Starbuck asked in astonishment, ignoring the man. Hades, up until tonight, he had really thought he had given one hundred percent of himself to trying to make 'them' work. Maybe that was the problem. It was beginning to _feel_ like work.

"I know you're not happy." She told him. "I've known it since Alrin." She smiled sadly at him. "You're going to spend the rest of you life wondering . . . and regretting . . . that you didn't . . " Tears filled her eyes as she looked away.

"Hey . . . " Starbuck took her hand reflexively. He had come here to get clearance to fly after an injury, not to hurt Cassie. "Where's all this coming from?" Did she truly see something that he had not?

"Call it female intuition." Cassie told him acerbically. "I just don't think you're as committed to _us_ as you think you are."

"Why?" Holy frack, how could she possibly know?

"I make all the sacrifices. If you want me to drop everything to come see you play triad or go out with Sheba and Apollo, I do. And you expect me to. It doesn't work both ways though. It's almost like you're testing me. Like you _want _me to tell you to go to Hades. Do you?"

"Tell him, Sweetie! After all, it's a short trip from the _Galactica_!"

"Shut up!" Starbuck shouted back, fed up with the commentary.

"He has a temper too . . . " the man's voice mumbled from behind the curtain.

"Well, do you?" Cassie repeated her question calmly.

"Sagan . . . " Starbuck stuttered as he looked into her beautiful eyes. She wasn't holding back a thing. She was telling it exactly as she was seeing it. Cassiopeia always did. "Is that what I'm doing?"

Starbuck thought about the last sectar. The whole time he thought he was being attentive and committed, she thought he was trying to annoy the Hades out of her . . . apparently. Lords, evidently he didn't do 'committed' that well.

"Isn't it?" Cassie challenged him.

"But, I haven't so much as flirted . . . " _Until tonight_, his subconscious reminded him.

"A relationship is based on much more than fidelity, Starbuck. There has to be some give and take on both sides. Can you even give me _one _example of you giving something up to spend time with me in the last four sectons?"

The only thing he could think of to say was, _I have a head injury._ "Cass, I feel like I've been blindsided by a landram. I thought you said you didn't want to do this here."

"Do what?" she threw his words back at him.

She could be cruel sometimes. "You tell me; you seem to have all the answers." Frack, did he really just say that aloud?

"Let's just say, I think I've given it more thought than you." Cassie replied, not in the least bit affronted by his remark. In fact, it seemed she agreed with him.

"Now you're in trouble, mate!" The drunk told him chortling.

Starbuck glared at the curtain that separated him from the intoxicated man. He shook his head as he looked back at Cassie and sardonically asked, "And what have you decided?" There comes a time in every man's life when he realizes it's time to sit back and become an audience instead of a participant in the conversation with his lover.

"I think you need to take some time to decide what it is . . . or more precisely, _who_ it is you really want. We need to take a break." Cassie explained.

Starbuck stared at her in a daze. Holy frack! At the beginning of the evening he thought he was happily involved with Cassiopeia. Then, much to his utter surprise, he had ended up making love with Luana. To round out the night, he had been involved with apprehending a couple goons who were trying to rape a young woman. Then he had worried about what he was going to say to Cassie when he disclosed his fling, only to have Luana tell him not to worry about leveling with Cassie, since Lu wasn't looking for a relationship. Now, to top it all off, Cassie was breaking up with him.

"I don't know what to say." He mumbled, still a bit stunned.

"What about 'thank you'?" she suggested. "I'll clear you for duty tomorrow. Everything seems fine except . . . " She paused as he looked up at her.

"Except what?" he asked numbly.

"You seem to have an unusually low sperm count." Cassie replied looking him in the eye. She turned around and left the cubicle closing the curtain behind her without another word.

Starbuck winced as she uttered the words. There was nothing left to say really.

"Busted!" the drunk chortled from behind the curtain.


	8. Chapter 8

"You're awfully quiet." There were many things Captain Apollo had come to expect from flying with Lieutenant Starbuck as a wingman over the yahrens. One of these givens was that the man could prattle on incessantly and either amuse the Hades out of him or drive him mad. It didn't seem to matter to Starbuck the centar of the day, the length of the patrol, what he had been doing the night before, or even if he was hung over; the man just started talking once they launched and didn't stop until they were in decon. Apollo had mused many a time if somehow the solitude of space affected his friend so. The Captain was, in contrast, content to sit back and let the quiet and vast emptiness surround him. He felt it comforting somehow. Then again, he had a six- yahren-old boy.

Strangely though, since they had met in the launch bay, Starbuck had barely said a word to him other than to briefly explain his run in with two goons on the triad court the night before, but only when asked. Apollo had found the complete report forwarded to him by Colonial Security when he checked his messages first thing in the morning, along with Starbuck's clean bill of health from the Life Station. Apparently, the two men, Kaden and Borka, were somewhat recently hired civilian sanitation technicians in charge of the fitness center, as well as other areas of the same deck. Both men had a history of working for recreational facilities in various capacities, ranging from personal trainers to their present designation. They also moonlighted on the _Rising Star_ during triad games, preparing and cleaning up the court and stands before and after games, which was unusual as far as the Captain was concerned. After all, it must be someone else's responsibility the rest of the time. Damned unions.

The Strike Captain grimaced as he mused the necessity of having civilians on a military vessel in any capacity. Unfortunately, manpower was limited, and trained military personnel were better suited to more appropriate positions than sanitation engineers or food preparation. He sighed. He couldn't help but wonder what information was missing from the personnel file. A mention of being in the Reserves on Skorpia seemed to be the deciding factor in both men obtaining positions on the _Galactica_ post Destruction. Of course, Apollo was well aware from experience that the Destruction gave many a man with a nefarious past an opportunity to recreate himself. Charybdis, Baltar's personal pilot, came to the forefront of his mind.

To complicate matters, the woman that Starbuck and Luana claimed to be rescuing had completely disappeared. Kaden and Borka were attempting to press assault charges against Starbuck for his physical attack on them, and maintained that this woman was but a figment of Starbuck and Luana's imaginations. Reece had assured the Captain that the likelihood of the charges being filed was remote, taking into consideration the reputation of the so-called 'victims' as compared to the 'aggressor'. In any case, the Security Officer had also informed him that the report was "stored on a datapad that had _erroneously_ been sent to Biotechnical Engineering for repair and maintenance". Apparently, even Colonial Security's finest could be absent minded when it came to retrieving important data before shipping their datapads off for repair. The 'quality assurance' report had already been filed . . . appropriately.

"Starbuck?" Apollo tried again.

"Yo." It lacked his usual verve.

"Something on your mind, buddy?"

A sigh and some static was the only reply.

"Come on, Starbuck. Spit it out."

Starbuck sighed again as he wondered what to say. Truthfully, he had mixed feelings about the whole Cassiopeia/Luana situation. He felt bad that the longest relationship he had had to date had crashed and burned the night before in the Life Station, but at the same time he was strangely relieved that the crushing oppression of commitment was suddenly gone. It was like a tremendous weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Not for the first time, he wondered if maybe he just wasn't meant for a long-term relationship. The_ idea _of sealing with a woman at times appealed to him, but in theory only. Every time he got close, he seemed to screw it up. If Cassiopeia was correct, he did it on purpose. Maybe he was a more active participant than he thought in Luana's little seduction scene. Maybe he had been leading her on the whole time without consciously thinking about it. _Hades, maybe not. Can you help it if you're irresistible to women?_

"Starbuck?" Apollo tried yet again. "I'm reading life signs, so I know you're still there, buddy."

"Cassie broke up with me last night." There. He had said it. Now he awaited the predictable, _'what did you do, Starbuck?'_

"What did you do?" Apollo asked.

Starbuck snorted in reply.

"You didn't do _anything_?" Apollo asked incredulously.

"Yeah, I did." He sighed and smiled slightly as he realized that his friends likely expected this from him. Really, these days it was more his reputation and history than his raison d'etre, but still . . . "I slept with Luana." Starbuck replied.

Oddly, though that admission should have made him feel like a daggit, it didn't. It was almost a relief just getting it off his chest. Confessing to his _conscience_. He realized it was ironic and unusual that he kept his conscience tucked away in the form of his Captain and best friend, but at times like this, it was probably the best course of action. After all, a guy could get downright respectable carrying it around with him at all times. He couldn't allow _that_ to happen.

"Starbuck . . . " Apollo sighed and closed his eyes briefly. He felt like berating the man like a disappointed parent, but knew his friend would be feeling terrible enough as it was. Lords, wasn't Starbuck ever going to grow up?

"I know." Starbuck replied, returning from his wandering thought line. His train of thought had shot off in several directions, generally avoiding the whole Luana/Cassie situation until just a few centons before. After all, there was enough to think about already now that he was being charged with assault. No matter the assurances from Security, he had to find that woman. Oh, then there was his card game . . . triad  
. . . that slight hesitation in the response time of his ship when he hit his turbos . . . his big toe sticking through the end of his right sock . . .

"I really thought you two were really going to make a go of it this time." Apollo ventured, trying to keep the accusatory note out of his voice.

"Yeah, well, just goes to show how wrong you can be." Starbuck replied lightly, in response to the edge of disapproval he heard.

"You don't sound too broken up about it." Apollo accused him. "Or are you just trying to make me think that?" Apollo shook his head wishing he could see the man's face . . . not that it always helped. When his friend really wanted to hide his feelings, he did it effectively, hiding behind his insouciant facade. "What's going on in that head of yours, Starbuck?"

Starbuck snorted at that. He took a few centons to gather his thoughts before replying. "Apollo, I feel like I was in a Cylon pinwheel attack and I escaped by the skin of my teeth."

Apollo's eyebrows rose as he paused before replying. "Starbuck, I've never seen a pilot look as comfortable in a pinwheel attack as you did with Cassiopeia this last sectar." He had truly thought that Starbuck was happy, or at least his friend had made every effort to appear so.

"Well, I do have a bit of experience with pinwheel attacks. You might say I attract them." A low chuckle escaped him.

"No kidding," Apollo said ruefully. It was true. Whether in love or war, Starbuck was definitely in the center of the action. He took the same risks in his personal life that he did in battle. At the same time, though, he seemed to be aware of all the risk factors and was able to extricate himself unscathed from the heat . . . though sometimes he had a little help from his friends. "How's Cassiopeia?"

Starbuck blew out a slow, deep breath between his teeth. Cassie was one of Apollo's friends too. The immediate future might be a little awkward, considering how close she and Sheba had grown. "I kind of got the idea she gave up on us a while ago. I believe her words were, 'I've given it more thought than you'."

That actually surprised Apollo. He had imagined a dramatic scene where Cassiopeia had discovered the lovers in a passionate embrace. "How did she find out?"

Starbuck shook his head at the memory. "Did you know that a biomonitor can do a sperm count by just running it over you?"

"Uh . . . Starbuck, no it can't. You would have to provide a specimen for them to do an accurate sperm count."

Starbuck blinked. "She was bluffing. Holy frack, she was bluffing!" A slow smile spread across his face . . . Cassiopeia. She was one Hades of a woman.

The regret was instantaneous, but was gone just as quickly, before he resigned himself to the fact that it was for the best. Cassie deserved one hundred percent and she wasn't going to get that from him.


	9. Chapter 9

Though Luana couldn't sing a note, she felt like jumping up on a table in the mess and performing a concert for everyone present. She decided to settle on whistling as she made her way through the line and piled the mystery meal of the day on to her tray. The only problem with whistling was it interfered with the severe case of perma-grin that had affected her since awakening that morning.

"So, how did it go last night?" the familiar voice of Lia penetrated her thoughts as she joined her in line.

"What?" Luana asked, startled out of her contemplations of Starbuck.

"The triad practice. How did it go?" Lia asked again.

"Perfect." Luana replied with a smile that could light up the commissary.

"Really?" Lia asked in amusement. "Exactly how 'perfect' did it go?" She hadn't seen her sister so happy since . . . well . . . uh . . .

"Couldn't have been better." Luana replied.

"Did you score?"

"Did I ever." Luana replied chuckling.

"Good. Learn lots?"

"Oh, yeah." Luana gushed.

"Gonna do it again?"

"Hope so." Luana waggled her eyebrows.

Lia paused as she considered her sister. "Are we talking about triad here?"

"What else would we be talking about?" Luana grinned, her eyes sparkling with devilry.

Realization hit Lia like too much Empyrean Ale on an empty stomach. "Holy . . . , did you . . .?" She almost dropped her tray as she figured out the reason for her sister's inexplicable happiness.

Luana's reply was a lecherous grin.

"But what about Cassiopeia?" Lia asked in a quieter tone of voice, noticing the attention they were attracting as heads turned in their direction.

"What about her?" Luana shrugged. Damn the consequences, full speed ahead!

"So . . . Starbuck's seeing both of you now?" Lia asked.  
"I . . . uh . . . " Luana stuttered.

"I see." Lia replied. "Haven't quite thought it all through, have you?"

Luana flushed and bit her lip as she headed towards the nearest table. She slowed her approach as she noticed all heads turned towards the monitor with full concentration directed towards the IFB announcer and interviewee.

_. . . legal sports betting taking place in triad. Even the suggestion of fixed games has come up. For instance, the unusual lackluster performance of late by one of the league's top players has me wondering if perhaps the financial recompense of throwing a game or shaving points has already affected the outcome of this season._

The telecast was accompanied by a variety of sports highlights, many of which featured Starbuck as he repeatedly fumbled the ball, missed shots and drew penalty shots in apparent frustration.

"Starbuck wouldn't throw a game!" Luana spat out vehemently.

"You have to admit though, he's been playing like a rookie lately . . . " someone else offered.

"Shh!" Lia interrupted.

_Are you inferring that Lieutenant Starbuck's appalling performance of late might be associated with sports betting? _Zed asked.

_Oh, I wouldn't go so far as to directly say that. However, as long as sports betting is both legal and encouraged through the publication of betting lines, the temptation to shave points or throw a game will always be there. _ The well dressed, officious looking gentleman replied.

"Who is that?" Lia asked the several people already sitting there.

"Dracus." Jolly replied with a scowl. "He's a bureautician. A lesser renowned member of our illustrious Council. This must be his cause of the sectar."

"Cause of the sectar?"

"Yeah," Jolly added, "He's a puritan. Despises what he_ perceives_ as moral corruption. Seems he's getting on his upper equine about something just about every sectar. Obviously, now it's sports betting."

"But he practically just accused Starbuck of taking bribes to throw his games." Luana pointed out. "How does a moral puritan justify that?"

"The key words are 'practically just accused Starbuck," Jolly shrugged. "Yeah, he's put it out on the IFB for everyone to think about, but he didn't actually incriminate him."

"He didn't?" Lia's eyebrows arched. "Seems like a fine line to me between inferring and incriminating."

"Privilege of speech. Bureautician." Jolly stated, as if that explained everything.

_So what are you suggesting, Sire Dracus? _Zed asked.

_Without some action, we'll no longer know if our favourite sports are a form of pure competition or simply an act that had its ending carefully scripted in the backrooms of the Rising Star. We need to put a stop to sports betting._

"Starbuck's gonna go ballistic when he hears this." Luana told them.


	10. Chapter 10

Starbuck left decon about fifteen microns before Apollo. Normally he would wait for his friend, but a niggling thought at the back of his mind had him wanting to track down Luana before his triad practice.

His talk with Apollo had actually made him feel a lot better. Instead of writhing in guilt over his actions, he had simply accepted that things happen for a reason. Yeah, Cassiopeia would be happier without him, the more he thought about it.

As for Luana . . . well, that hand still needed to be played out. He realized that instead of thinking about what she ultimately wanted or needed from him, he should be taking his time and sitting back to enjoy his sudden freedom.

Hades, he had a card game tonight and no one was going to be giving him a hard time over how late he played, how much he lost, how many drinks he had or how many smoldering weeds he inhaled. A slow grin spread across his features as he strode off the lift. Really, he should let Luana find him. She was the one who offered no commitments. It wouldn't do to have him seem too eager.

He turned the corner to abruptly come face to face with an IFB reporter, microphone, and videcam. The light that suddenly shone in his eyes had him taking a step back as Zed's voice bombarded him with the unexpected accusation.

"Lieutenant Starbuck, what is your reaction to Sire Dracus' suggestion that you are throwing your games and receiving kickbacks?"

"What?" Starbuck asked as he held his hand up to the light. "What the frack are you talking about?"

"Lieutenant, we're live here." Zed pointed out. He looked over his shoulder as one of his team muttered something to him. "Of course, you've just come off patrol. Perhaps you're unaware that Sire Dracus was on the IFB this morning discussing sports betting. He mentioned that an increase in betting activity seemed to coincide with your recent abysmal performance on the court. Now, our research shows a lump sum of cubits was recently deposited in your personal account. Honestly Lieutenant, the fleet would like you to explain how one of our most honoured and decorated heroes could sink so low as to disappoint a multitude of fans, many who are youngsters that admire, and indeed, emulate your personal example of conduct and ethics."

"Zed, if you don't get that fra . . . _thing_ out of my face, I'll stick it so far down your throat that you won't be able to sit for a sectar!" Starbuck snarled as his bewildered mind tried to process the information, while pushing aside the mic that was dangerously close to penetrating his nasal passages. "Now what in Hades are you talking about?"

"The cubits, Lieutenant. Where did you get the cubits?" Zed asked, again sticking the mic under Starbuck's nose.

"What cubits?" He shook his head, still befuddled. His personal account was so empty that dropping a single cubit in it caused an echo that reverberated throughout the Colonial coffers. Well, hypothetically speaking.

"There was a substantial deposit just this morning. Now, coincidentally, don't you have a game tomorrow night? Is this payoff for past games thrown, Lieutenant, or for future ones?" Zed drilled him, pausing a moment when Starbuck's eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared and the warrior tensed from head to toe.

With the speed of a striking serpent, Starbuck's hand reached out and grabbed Zed by the tunic, shoving the reporter against the wall. He grabbed the mic with his free hand and jammed it under the interviewer's chin. "Consider this an exclusive," the warrior spat. "I don't take bribes. I don't throw games. Anyone who says otherwise can say it to my face, not hidden away in the backrooms of the IFB, while I'm a parsec away on patrol."

"Well, how do you explain your lackluster performance of late?" Zed gurgled with the mic pressed firmly against his throat.

Starbuck huffed in frustration. "I almost died on a mission last sectar, and you expect me to be up to the same standard I was last season? Well, I'm not! Yeah, my playing is pathetic, I admit it. Nobody is more painfully aware of it than me, pal. But it has nothing to do with throwing games. I'm out of shape. Pure and simple." He shook his head in self-disgust and loosened his grip on Zed. The weird thing was he was doing so much better at practices, but as yet, that hadn't translated to the courts of the _Rising Star_. "Maybe that will change your gallmonging odds enough to satisfy Dracus."

"That still doesn't answer where the cubits came from, Lieutenant." Zed returned, surprised and almost a little disappointed that Starbuck hadn't pounded him through the bulkhead. After all, it would have been a brilliant lead-in for the Primary Report.

"You tell me. You've obviously been poking around my account more than I have lately. Did you trace this supposed deposit, Zed? Isn't that part of your research?" Starbuck countered. "As far as I know, since my last payroll deposit and subsequent withdrawal, my account was as empty as your accusations."

Zed flushed, knowing he hadn't completed the research to the degree his director would have expected, especially considering his accusatory line of questioning with the warrior. He had hurried his data gathering, hoping to catch Starbuck unaware upon his return from patrol. He had made every effort to be aboard the battlestar on the pretense of updating a recruiting add for the military, and had expected the lieutenant would pass by the official media gallery on his way from the landing bay.

"What's going on here?"

Starbuck released Zed, thrusting the mic back into his hand and then turned to face the cool, appraising eyes of his Captain. With relief he felt Apollo's hand clap on his shoulder in a show of support. The captain's eyes narrowed as he assessed Zed and his media team.

"Captain Apollo, can we get your view of the situation?" Zed asked, once again swinging the offending microphone in a warrior's face.

"There is no situation." Apollo replied calmly, noting his friend's surprised glance. Luckily, he had been filled in on the IFB report by one of his crew before hitting decon. He had planned to talk to the lieutenant about it on the way to the courts. Surprisingly, however, Starbuck had left the landing bay ahead of him, clearly intent on doing something before their triad practice. "I can assure you with the greatest confidence that Lieutenant Starbuck would not throw a game. It's complete . . . conjecture." He grabbed Starbuck's arm and steered him firmly towards the nearby lift without a look back.

Starbuck followed Apollo's lead, calmly entering the turbolift and entering his level as he watched the IFB videcam follow them. As Zed and his team disappeared from view, he swung around, banging his fist against the wall, his fury finally finding an outlet. It felt good . . . so he did it again.

"Starbuck . . . " Apollo hesitated, immediately seeing a disturbing similarity between Starbuck and Boxey. The man was almost as impressive as the child in full tantrum mode. He just hoped the warrior wouldn't start kicking the panel next. "Hey, try saving some of that energy for the court."

"I don't believe this!" Starbuck snapped. "They think I'm throwing games. Frack, I know I've been playing bad, but throwing games . . . " He shook his head and slumped against the wall, leaning his head back against it. Sometimes being a minor celebrity wasn't all it was cracked up to be. People celebrated everything you did well, and criticized everything you didn't. And now . . . "Maybe I should just throw in the towel for the rest of the season."

Apollo grabbed his shoulders and gave him a little shake. "Hey, I know you don't really mean that. The way you played at our last practice, you looked as good as you ever did."

"Yeah, and the way I played at our last _game_, I looked worse than I ever did." Starbuck griped back. He shrugged off his friend's grip, pacing the small cubicle and blowing out a deep breath. "You're right, I don't mean it. I won't quit. I just hate to look . . . " He dropped his gaze, disconcerted by his train of thought.

"Bad." Apollo smiled, turning to follow Starbuck's frenzied path. "No kidding. Face it, buddy, humility isn't one of your strong suits."

Starbuck smiled ruefully, "Well, I'm not exactly accustomed to being the bumbling fool on the triad court . . . or anywhere else for that matter."

"Hey, it's not so much your moves, it's your shots that just aren't hitting the mark." Apollo reassured him.

"Yeah, my shots, my passes, pretty much every time the ball leaves my hand. Other than that, well, I'm great."

"It'll come, Starbuck. Just be patient." Apollo encouraged him.

"Patience isn't one of my finer qualities either. Or maybe you haven't noticed." Starbuck returned with a slight grin.

"Yeah, well, if you cut yourself a little slack, it might come easier. You have to be realistic. You're not twenty yahrens old anymore. It takes longer to recover from your injuries."

Starbuck groaned aloud. "Lords, is that supposed to be a pep talk? _You're just old, Starbuck. That's all._ Thanks a lot, Apollo. You know, you'd be perfect to give inspirational messages to the fleet." He affected an evangelistic voice. "_Do you find that your ale glass is constantly half empty, or half full? Either way you're likely an alcoholic so it doesn't really matter._"

Apollo grinned, "You might be exaggerating. Or are you just a little more sensitive about your age now that you're sleeping with Luana?"

"What? Hey, wasn't it you who once said something about the Lords of Kobol having very young wives? Are you changing your tune?"

"Not me, Starbuck, I don't have a problem with it. If I remember correctly, it was _you_ who had a problem with it. Wives, eh? Hmm, I don't think I've heard you mention that word voluntarily before. Is there something else you wanted to tell me?" he teased.

"Lords, are we ever going to reach our level?" Starbuck muttered, eying the levels as the indicator light moved along far too slowly for his liking.

Apollo chuckled in response before asking more seriously. "Hey, what was Zed talking about with the cubits in your account?"

"I don't know. Except for my . . . well, I have some cubits in my locker, but other than that, I'm broke." He caught the quirk of Apollo's lips. Yeah, he usually was broke. That's why he was always getting his friends to stake his games. However, he had been carefully laying aside some of his pay for the big game that night. It was going to be all or nothing. Of course, if his streak of bad luck continued the way it had been going the last sectar, it would be nothing. However, if you didn't risk it all, you'd never win big. Every gambler in the universe knew that. "I guess I'd better check it out though. Maybe I've inherited a vast estate from an unknown relative." He grinned.

"More likely payroll made some kind of error, buddy." Apollo returned logically. "Either way, you better get it sorted out before Zed gets his nose any further into your business."

Starbuck nodded distractedly. Actually, a few extra cubits to put into the game might be just what he needed to give him an edge at the game. After all, he was inclined to play less cautiously when he had more of a pot . . . at least these days. Hades, maybe he _was_ getting old. All the same, if payroll had made an error, far be it for him to point it out.


	11. Chapter 11

"Holy frack . . . " Starbuck gazed at the screen, partly in wonder, partly in horror and mostly in complete bewilderment. The balance of cubits in his account was akin to six sectars pay. He accessed the account itself and drew in a sharp breath when he saw the name under which the deposit was made.

"Sagan's sake, woman, what are you doing to me?" He muttered, closing the connection to the account and jumping back out of his seat with such force that the chair toppled onto the floor.

He needed to see her, and he needed to do it now. Actually, he had been planning to go there anyhow, now he had even more reason to do it. Frackin' Hades Hole! What was going through Ama's mind?

He raced towards the maintenance shuttle that he had already arranged to pick up their shipment of Empyrean Ale. Ama was still generous with her ale and fumarellos despite the fact that his role with Empyrean Ale and Tobacconists was largely honorary now. Starbuck had been so thorough at the outset of the business, that the ale and tobacco were being carried in every possible establishment in the fleet. Of course, the popularity of the product had grown so much, that when any new business opened its doors, the owners automatically contacted the Empyreans.

Ama had also made the ale available to her people at a reduced cost. Starbuck had seen the numbers, and he couldn't help but wonder if the Empyreans were enjoying their ale a little_ too _much. However, when people, especially those recently accustomed to enjoying the freedoms associated with planetary life, were suddenly stuck on a freighter staring at four walls while traveling through space, a little bit of ale eased their passage. He couldn't help but remember that the Imperial Empyreans had historically abandoned their quest for Earth twice before, and wondered if under the circumstances that they faced within the fleet, if they would fare any better.

Within ten centons, he was heading towards the _Malocchio_, the Empyrean freighter. He tried to make himself relax as he sat on the shuttle, but after enough experience dealing with Ama, it just wasn't possible. Talking with the former Empyrean necromancer was like dodging laser bursts from a high-powered, yet finicky weapon. Just when he thought he knew what to expect from her, she'd _zap_ him again.

He tried to console himself with the fact that his triad practice had gone well. He had had so much pent up energy that Apollo actually had a hard time keeping up with him. Well, so much for the _old man_ theory, he smiled in satisfaction. His shots had been pure artistry, and he had even sunk a few hook shots, each one sailing above his partner's attempted block as they went one-on-one. Now, in hindsight, he wondered if Apollo had been taking it easy with him to boost his morale. Mind you, the sweat pouring off his friend indicated he had been playing as hard as Starbuck. Perhaps his luck was taking a turn for the better.

He felt the shuttle's approach and briefly spoke to the engineers, both of whom would be attending the card game. After all, he had to invite a few extra players if he was going to coordinate the event with the necessary secrecy. Favours begat favours.

Soon he was striding towards Ama's quarters, but not with his usual jaunty step. An inexplicable unease had affected him; the kind of sensation that normally had him wanting to run in the opposite direction. He shook it off as he was about to hit the entry panel, but the hatch slid open inexplicably and eerily. Lords, he hated it when she did that!

He lingered at the entryway, his eyes adjusting to the flickering candlelight in the room. It looked as though she was performing some kind of ceremony. A sinking sensation once again set in. She_ knew _he hated this mumbo-jumbo felgercarb!

"Oh, do come in, Starbuck. I've been expecting you, my dear."

Ama's voice came from every direction simultaneously, seemingly disembodied. He finally spotted her lounging on a longseat at the end of the room, her trademark wild, long, white hair spread out in every direction. He entered the room, picking his way across it slowly in the reduced light, ever mindful of what just might be lying around the retired necromancer's chambers, and not wanting to step on it. Looking around, he realized the acoustics had more to do with her voice carrying than her necromancer abilities. He blew out the breath he had been holding.

"Ama, why the frack did you deposit a fortune worth of cubits into my account?" He asked, point blank. After all, while she was letting him get a few words in, he might as well make them count.

A familiar cackle of laughter surrounded him. She stood up and held out a glass of ale to him. "Come. Sit. Join me. First we must eat and drink. Then we will talk of business."

"Do you know how much trouble you've gotten me into?" Starbuck walked up to her. As always, her presence made her appear more magnificent than her actual size.

She pressed the ale into his hand. "A new brew. Try it."

Starbuck sighed, knowing how the woman stuck to her traditions while entertaining in her chambers. She would answer no questions before he imbibed. Luckily, he was technically off-duty, though with the Hades he had been through, in retrospect it probably wouldn't have mattered to him one whit. He tipped the amber fluid up and drank deeply, swallowing a full third of the tantalizing liquid within. It was lighter than the usual brew, but with a full-bodied flavour that reminded him of the best Sagittarian Ales from before the destruction. "It's good."

Ama raised her eyebrows and smirked. "My, my, you _must_ be angry at me. _Just_ good. I think it's sensational." She lifted her glass and drank. "Liquid poetry," she added. "I've added a few cases to your supply for your game tonight. They should be loaded on the shuttle as we speak. I thought we could get some feedback from some of your friends."

"Are you talking business already? Lords, woman, you're conforming." He chastised her as he sunk onto the longseat and dug into the platter of treats she had set out. As usual, the food was of the best quality. Of course, she had the finest of ales and tobacco with which to barter, so he shouldn't be surprised.

Ama sat down beside him, watching him enjoy the bounty with gusto. He was finally filling out again. He had looked far too thin for the first couple of sectons after the rescue mission on Alrin. He wasn't quite himself after that excursion. Oh, he had tried to put on the usual front, but she had known he was missing something. It had oddly enough translated into the departure of his famous . . . or infamous luck. But it was more than that; it was his spirit that needed to heal as much as his body. She could feel it when she had been near him, seen it in his aura.

Luana, her goddaughter, had been similar. Neither of them would admit how they had regretted how things turned out after Alrin, but Ama knew. She recognized the haunted look in Luana's eyes every time she looked at the warrior who had captured her heart and awakened her passions. But Lia had set Ama straight that morning on the latest occurrence in their ever-evolving relationship.

And then, of course, she had acted accordingly. The timing couldn't have been better.

"Don't they feed you on that battlestar of yours?" She teased him, inwardly pleased that she had remembered his favourites. It would help break the news.

"Sure, it just doesn't taste this good." He grinned in reply, slipping back into their usual rapport. "Okay, I'm eating, I'm drinking . . . What gives?" He took another deep draught of his ale.

"I was speaking to my goddaughter this morning." Ama told him, studying him closely for his reaction. "Clearly, felicitations are in order."

Well, it was all he could do to not spit the ale back out again! Even so, he coughed and sputtered as he tried to swallow the cold brew instead of inhaling it, which was his body's natural tendency at this point. "Feli . . . citions?" he rasped, coughing again.

"Of course." Ama replied, raising her glass to him and drinking again.

"Ama, I don't know what Luana told you, but we're hardly at the stage for felicitations." Starbuck corrected her as quickly as he could, all the time wondering how he could have misread Lu so completely.

"Not Luana, my dear boy, Lia. I spoke with Lia."

"Lia? But how does she know . . . ?" Starbuck stuttered.

"They're sisters, Starbuck. They talk about these things." Ama replied rationally, topping up his glass.

"Wait a centon, I don't get it. If you know about Luana and I, then what are the cubits for?" After all, she should be turning him into a putrid by now, not giving him money.

"Her dowry." Ama replied.

"Her _what_?" Starbuck shook his head, a feeling of dread overcoming him.

"Dowry, dear heart. It's generally considered the property brought to a husband by his bride. Of course, a ten percent interest in Empyrean Ale and Tobacconists is included, but we can review the entire pre-nuptial agreement later."

"What?" Starbuck jumped to his feet, a strange quivering was beginning to infect his limbs, starting at his ankles and moving upwards. The gorge rose in his throat.

"Now, now, don't have a conniption, Starbuck. Sit down." She ordered him, a faint smile crossing her face as he instead backed away from her in horror. "By the virtue of the Goddess Triquetra, you didn't expect to make love with an Empyrean Princess and treat her like just another Colonial tart, did you?" She also climbed to her feet, enjoying his discomfort.

"Ama, Luana abdicated. Her and Lia both did. You know that as well as I."

"Yes, that's true. But she's still a princess and my godchild. I swore an oath to her parents to see she was cared for, and her abdication doesn't change any of that." She walked towards him and grabbed his hand, turning his palm upward and holding it up to her face. She carefully traced the lines she saw there. "I know that you are an honourable man, Starbuck. Surprisingly so for a commoner. I also know how much you care for Luana. All I'm asking is for you to do the right thing."

"Ama, I don't need twenty-five thousand cubits in my account to get me to do the right thing!" He tried to pull his hand back, but she held on tightly. "Frack, woman, don't you understand that Sire Dracus accused me of taking bribes to throw triad games at the same time you deposited the money?"

"I believe you're getting off topic here, Starbuck. I was talking about you and Luana. This whole triad thing will sort itself out." Her eyes narrowed deviously.

"Well, forgive me if I lack your confidence." Starbuck returned sarcastically.

"Quite all right." She replied with her gap-toothed grin. "Now, as to my goddaughter, what are your intentions? You show me your hand, I'll show you mine."

"You better ask her, Ama. The last thing she told me was 'no commitments'. Frankly, that doesn't exactly shout 'marry me, Starbuck'."

"You're a fool if you believe that, Starbuck. You know how the girl cares for you." Ama replied, grabbing his index finger with her left hand as she readied her hidden blade with her right.

He yanked his hand out of her grasp as a glint of metal reflected off the flicker of candlelight. "Ama, how many times do you think I'm gonna fall for that?" He asked incredulously.

"Just one more time would have been helpful." She remarked ruefully. "I want to look into your future."

"No. I'll keep my blood this time, thank you very much. And I'll sort my own future out. Just like the whole triad thing." Starbuck retorted as he turned to go. "I'll transfer your cubits back to you. Not only do I _not_ take bribes for throwing games, I also don't take them to marry princesses."

"It's not a bribe, dear heart, it's a dowry. What's done is done." Ama replied, slightly abashed at his reaction to her generous offer as she followed him to the hatch.

"Either way, my relationship with Luana is none of your business, Ama."

"Oh, that's where you're wrong, Starbuck. Dead wrong. It is very much my business and my responsibility." She watched as he pounded the activator to the hatch. It didn't budge. "And Starbuck, I don't want you leaving here with the wrong idea. I wouldn't have done this if I didn't think you were the best man for my goddaughter." She tapped the activator and the door slid open, responding immediately to her touch.

"Well, I guess that's more than a _commoner_ like me could expect." He replied briskly before turning and leaving, hearing her call his name one more time. Too fracking bad.


	12. Chapter 12

Starbuck entered the _Galactica_'s mess, immediately noting the hushing of voices all around him. Every set of eyes in the place seemed to settle on him and not all of them were friendly. He caught Boomer's amused expression as he started to pass by his table and paused before his squadron mates.

"You've been . . . busy." The right side of Boomer's face was fighting a grin while the left side was struggling to maintain his straight demeanor.

"What's wrong with your face? Are you having a fit?" Starbuck asked him. "You really should remember to take your medication, Boomer."

"What medication?" Giles asked, nonplussed.

"He's kidding, Giles." Jolly explained, shaking his head. "Watch out, Starbuck. Sheba is gunning for you." His eyes flickered to a table half way across the mess.

Starbuck followed his gaze to see Sheba and Athena watching him. Sheba's jaw was set and her lips were tight. She waved him over.

"Don't go, Starbuck. Don't go." Greenbean begged him dramatically, but quietly. "You're too young to die."

"Not as young as Luana though." Giles inserted with a grin.

"Is that what this is about? I thought it was Dracus' accusations." Starbuck commented as looked back at Sheba and Athena. Athena had angled her chair so she could watch him easier, her lithe form tensed like a felix about to pounce. No doubt so he couldn't escape her clutches. She drummed her fingertips on the table, clearly impatient with his lack of progress, and her eyes narrowed, keeping him in her sites. She had always looked so damn alluring when she was intent. Well, so much for the friendship they had renewed since she tutored Luana and Lia during their basic training. She looked _almost_ as angry as Sheba. She just wore it better, he noticed.

"Well, it's not everyday you get engaged, Bucko."

His fleeting appreciation of Athena's beauty abruptly ended. "_What_?"

Suddenly, his heart was in his throat. _How the frack . . . ?_

_Ama_. He closed his eyes, shaking his head numbly. That woman. Not only had she deposited a sizeable sum of cubits in his account, she had also apparently announced their engagement. That interfering, crazy, old crone . . .

" . . . and I refuse to call you Prince Starbuck . . . " Jolly was saying.

"I'm _not_ engaged!" Starbuck hissed.

"Fraid it's official, Bucko. It was on the IFB's Society Feature." Boomer told him as he pointed to the monitor.

"What in Hades is that?"

"You know, the who's who of the fleet and all their business." Giles informed him.

"Apparently, it's quite the scandal. A commoner proposing to an Empyrean Princess. Especially _a notorious gambler and philanderer_." Jolly told the table with a grin. "Used to be they would just execute the guy, but Colonial Law forbids that now."

"Too bad." Starbuck muttered.

"Are we invited to the sealing, Starbuck? Or is it just for the hoity-toity?" Boomer asked, his wide grin winning the battle over his facial features.

"Oh, you're enjoying this, aren't you?" Starbuck snarled at him. "Have you guys seen Luana?" He looked across the mess, but she was nowhere to be seen. He couldn't help but wonder if she was aware of her godmother's actions and how she was taking the news.

"Have you lost track of your affianced already?" Jolly ribbed him.

"Probably somewhere looking at dresses, I'd imagine." Giles joined in.

"Arranging caterers." Jolly suggested.

"Will the Imperial Necromancer perform the ceremony, or will you have the Commander do it?" Giles asked.

"Dang, I have nothing to wear to an Empyrean Ball." Jolly whined.

"Hey, I'll bet it will be an open bar rife with a fine selection of Empyrean Ales." Greenbean opined. "So, are we invited or not, Starbuck?"

"I'm _not_ getting married." He looked back at the impatient women again. Sheba was now walking towards him, Athena right behind her. "Oh, frack. I've got to talk to Cassie." No wonder Sheba was looking at him like he was a Borellian Mong Beetle. Cassiopeia would have heard the news as well by now. He could well imagine the conclusions she would have drawn.

Boomer's grin faded and he nodded at his friend. "What's the story? I heard you two broke up, and then this comes on the IFB hot on the tail end of the Dracus accusations this morning."

"It's a long story." Starbuck groaned, rolling his eyes. "I'm sure it will be on the IFB's evening edition though, so I won't bore you with details now."

Boomer smiled in response. "Well, you're right about one thing. You should talk to Cassiopeia, especially if you're not really engaged. She deserves some kind of explanation. Oh, and if you want to do it in one piece you better move your astrum out of here before Sheba gets any closer."

"You want me to run away from Sheba?" Starbuck asked in disgust.

"Yep, I'd recommend it." Boomer told him, his eyes darting beyond his friend.

A chorus of "me too's" sounded down the table from the illustrious Blue Squadron, Commander's Adama's strike wing and defenders of the Human race.

"I'm _not_ afraid of Sheba."

"That's good, because she's right behind you." Jolly informed him.

"And Athena's on her right wing." Greenbean added a little more quietly, as he hid behind his java mug.

A not-so-gentle tap on his shoulder indicated they were telling the truth.

"Armed and ready . . . " Giles muttered dramatically, averting his gaze from the doomed pilot. "I can't watch."

Starbuck sighed and turned around. "Ladies," he smiled pleasantly.

"Would you like me to tell you what I think of you here? Or in the corridor?" Sheba growled in return.

"I always like how you avoid the pleasantries and come right to the point. It's refreshing in a woman." Starbuck returned blithely.

"Here?" Sheba clarified, her eyes glinting dangerously.  
He noticed her hand resting on the butt of her weapon, but assumed it was instinctive rather than premeditated. At least he hoped so.

"Move, Starbuck." Athena grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the comparatively quiet corridor. Despite what had just happened, they had actually gained some ground as friends in the past sectars. As his friend and former lover, she had a damn good understanding of his character. And she knew any answers he gave in front of the guys would be influenced by a certain amount of high-density testosterone induced bravado. To her relief, he followed them without comment. Until . . .

"Look, rumours of my engagement have been greatly exaggerated." He turned to them, relieved the only other person present was a sanitation technician cleaning the floor further down the hall.

"How surprising." Athena replied wryly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Really?" Sheba drawled. "And do you think that makes Cassiopeia feel any better right now?"

"No. I don't." Starbuck agreed. "I was just going to talk to her." His eyes flickered back to the cleaning woman. Something about her was vaguely familiar. Hades, he had likely seen her before. She was one of the multitude of workers who seemed to disappear into the background as the efficient machine that was a Colonial Battlestar ran on a daily basis.

"I really don't think she'll want to talk to you, Starbuck." Athena told him, shaking her head. Cassie would tear him to pieces, and then start stitching him up again the old-fashioned way. Without anaesthesia.

"Look Athena, I don't want her thinking that we broke up last night only to have me pop the question to Luana right afterwards."

"Well, that begs the question why the Empyreans released the announcement of your engagement to Luana." Sheba rejoined, her voice rising subtly.

"I had nothing to do with it. I'm _not_ engaged."

"Well, something precipitated the announcement." Sheba ventured.

"Probably the same thing that precipitated the breakup." Athena guessed.

"You don't know what happened. You weren't there. This is between . . . " He watched as both women straightened their backs like wild equines about to rear up and crush him beneath their hooves. "Never mind. I know you feel like you need to defend Cassiopeia, but she can take care of herself. _She_ broke up with _me_ last night. And yeah, I deserved it. But that had nothing to do with some fictitious announcement of an engagement today."

"Starbuck, we were both there with Cassiopeia last night, so we _do_ know what happened to a certain extent." Athena corrected him. "The point of all this is that last night Cassie told us you were taking a break. _Not_ breaking up. She said you needed to figure out who you really wanted to be with, her or Luana. What kind of message does this send to Cassie? A damn clear one, if you ask me. You've made you choice. And you only needed one night of freedom to do it."

"That's _not_ what happened. And just because Cassiopeia thinks I need to choose between her and Luana doesn't necessarily mean _I _do. That's her agenda, not mine." He ran his fingers back through his hair distractedly. Why in Hades Hole was he even having this discussion with them? Was he trying to win them over in some way? Attempting to make them understand his motivations. Frack, he didn't understand them himself for the most part.

"Ah, yes, the brave warrior—incapable of making a decision concerning his love life. Instead, he sits back and lets _the hand play itself out_." Athena told him acerbically.

He sighed. "Haven't we already done this?" The sanitation worker looked over at them curiously. He studied her in return. Dark hair swept up on top of her head. Mid- thirties. Her slender body covered by the shapeless uniform of her designation. She looked away quickly, almost guiltily. Obviously, she was listening.

"Ahem." Sheba was looking at him in annoyance as he assessed the woman.

However, Athena nodded knowing he was referring to the last time she tore a strip off of him when he was strapped to a stretcher on the way back from Alrin. The scene had been emotional, as Cassiopeia and Athena had warned Luana about the warrior and his seeming incapability to commit to a woman. Any woman.

Well, Luana had apparently taken their sagacious advice with a grain of crystalline sodium chloride.

"Yes, you're right, we did." Athena replied before poking him in the chest with her index finger. "And is that what it takes to get you to see things clearly, Starbuck? Do you have to be on a death bed before you realize what you're thoughtlessly throwing away?"

"I could help you out there." Sheba blustered, an angry flush on her attractive features. _Frackin' porcine headed . . ._

They paused for a moment as three cadets passed them by, their gaze flickering curiously over them and their envy apparent. "Some guys have all the luck," one of them muttered off-handedly.

Starbuck let out a short puff at the irony of their perception. They couldn't be more wrong. "Okay, you've said what you came to say."

"Yeah, but did you hear any of it?" Athena countered.

"Athena . . . "

"Starbuck, I've known you a long time. I'm not just trying to be meddlesome here. You and Cassie are both my friends. I care about you both. I just don't understand what it's going to take to get you to recognize this self-destructive behavior you've been playing out your entire life."

He couldn't hold her penetrating gaze and once again looked back at the sanitation worker. Why did they find it so enthralling to dissect his character traits? It was probably some women's course at each secton-end--_Understanding the Colonial male's many flaws and failings, and exactly how to tell him about them._

The woman straightened up as she prepared to climb on the turbo lift. That was when it hit him. Dark hair, blue eyes, a little younger than he had first thought . . . she was the woman from the triad court!

"Hey!" he shouted, immediately striding towards her and breaking into a run as she entered the lift.

She furiously punched the control for her level and then backed into the rear wall, putting as much physical distance between them as was possible. The doors seemed to close a grueling millimetron at a time as the warrior closed the short distance.

Starbuck thrust his hand towards the rapidly closing space. His fingertips hit the smooth, cool surface of the door seam and he wedged them in waiting for the safety mechanism to trigger and hoping the routine maintenance had been kept up.

A slight pressure was all he felt as the doors _swooshed_ open again. The woman's eyes, bigger than Cylon Base Ships, gazed at him in horror.

"Hello again," he gave her a fleeting smile as he stepped inside, the doors closing on Athena's frustrated cry of, "Starbuck!"


	13. Chapter 13

"I'm going to kill her!" Luana exclaimed, realizing that she had a couple choices of who to execute first. Lia or Ama. Oh, the temptation to wrap her hands around either scrawny neck was strong as she looked at her summons from Sire Regus of the Empyrean Quorum. Apparently, he wanted to discuss _"her Imperial Princess' sudden and ludicrous decision to seal with a notorious warrior well below her station"._

Well, so much for her masterful plan of wheedling her way into Starbuck's heart, slowly but surely. Knowing the lieutenant, he'd be in a Viper on deep space probe by now. And he wouldn't be back until she was an old woman.

To top it off, everyone else now knew about their relationship. Most of these people knew Cassiopeia and liked her. Several had worked with her, or had visited her professionally. Suffice it to say, Lu had had several comments directed towards her since she had been revealed to be--oh, how did they say it?—like a feral felix in heat and on the prowl.

No, it hadn't been said to her face, but she had heard it all the same. She was the apparent reason that two such popular people who had seemed so happy together had broken up. Such were the heightened senses of a woman who was accustomed to hunting the hills of the planet Empyrean. She missed very little. Until now, she had thought of it as an advantage, especially when she could apply it to her career as a warrior.

But now, while most eyes looked at her accusatorily or just plain curiously, she wished she could be one of those people that could blissfully ignore the piercing stares. If only she could be immune to the judgments and ridicule of others. _Yeah, you still have a fair amount of growing up to do, Lu. You have to work on that thick skin._

It hadn't helped that she had brought it on herself. After all, the whole seduction scene had been her idea. She had only meant to . . . get under Starbuck's skin. Yeah, that was it. Make him realize that their chemistry wasn't just the result of a life threatening situation on a planet some distance from their battlestar. Now, his relationship with Cassiopeia was off, Ama had officially announced their engagement, and the IFB was skulking around trying to get the latest exclusive on Starbuck's intensely newsworthy life of late.

Starbuck was going to hate her.

Oh sure, he was used to being in the spot light to a certain extent, and even reveled in it, but usually that was in the glory of his role as one of the fleet's most accomplished heroes and athletes. Not this time.

No, now it was all negative. First he was accused of throwing his triad games, and then certain officious Empyreans were all over him for daring to propose to one of their princesses. Of course, they were also dredging up the last Empyrean Ball where Starbuck had single-handedly sabotaged the sacred unity of the two Great Houses when he kissed the Lady Aurelia, thereby ending her engagement to Rogane, son of Sire Regus.

Sire Regus had been a gigantic pain in the astrum since the Imperial Empyreans had joined the fleet. At first, he had welcomed them with wide opens arms, ready to tuck them into the comfortable fold of his people. Together with Sire Albus, the head of the other Great House, they had spoken of embracing the Imperial Empyreans and honouring the age-old traditions of the Royal Family.

Ironically, that was when the princesses, Lia and Luana, had decided to abdicate in favour of becoming Colonial Warriors. They both wanted to contribute to their new society, not perpetuate archaic traditions that they saw as irrelevant on their new quest for Earth. Besides, being a princess on a planet of hunters was vastly different from holding court in the traditional Empyrean noble houses. They simply weren't interested in the pomp and ceremonial felgercarb.

After getting to know Starbuck, they wanted to be a part of the advancement of the human race, not the stagnation, which was how they saw the Empyreans. Especially, those aboard the _Malocchio_ Freighter. By the Goddess Triquetra, Albus and Regus had felt that a woman's only place was in the home doing as she was told and having babies! The women were no better than servants.

Well, that wasn't really fair. No, the Empyrean women of the Colonies had made their own inroads after the sectarian nature of their lives had been infiltrated by the IFB. Young women, like Aurelia, had made their own plans deciding that they wanted a different life than that of their mothers. But generally, that meant moving off of the Empyrean Freighter, _Malocchio_.

Still, even with the obvious tide of change, Regus and Albus had fought tooth and nail to maintain the status quo, but they were outdone by the Imperial Necromancer. Ama held an important and impressive role in society and had thumbed her nose at the chauvinistic ideas of her ancient brethren. Even when she officially retired, she still commanded the people's respect, and held a seat on the Empyrean Quorum where she could keep a watchful eye on the devious heads of the noble houses. Sire Albus' mother, Siress Ama, the Empyrean Necromancer for the last generation, had supported her.

Luana banged her hand on her locker. She knew she was procrastinating as she stood there musing. Before all of this blew up in her face, she had to find her lover. As the old crone always said, _what's done is done. Don't fash yourself about it. _Besides, she could rake Ama and Lia over the coals later.

Somehow Luana knew there was some underlying motive behind Ama's announcement. As much as the necromancer liked people to think she was driven by her mystical arts, the woman always did things for a reason, no matter how convoluted it seemed to her goddaughter. No, there was more to this than Luana being involved in her first sexual relationship, and Ama disapproving of her methods or wanting to rush her into marriage. She would get to the bottom of it all. After facing Starbuck.


	14. Chapter 14

She knew her face was devoid of colour as the sanitation tech tried to morph into the walls of the turbo lift without success. She licked her dry lips as she stared at the warrior facing her. Her had come to her assistance when she had been attacked by Kaden and Borka, and she had repaid him by simply disappearing. If he only knew . . .

Lieutenant Starbuck had every reason to start yelling at her in fury, but instead he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the lift contemplating her, as though he was almost bored. She did detect a slight narrowing of his eyes though, which suggested otherwise.

Kaden and Borka had been released from lack of evidence. She was aware they were in the offices of the IFB telling their version of the story which would have the fleet convinced that they were the victims of the lieutenant's rage, as he and his lover were interrupted by the men during their tryst. It couldn't be further from the truth, but without her statement, people would probably believe it, especially considering the media hype Starbuck had been subject to so far. As much as people loved a hero, watching one fall from his pedestal was even more entertaining to the masses.

All of this raced through Oriana's mind as she waited to see what the lieutenant would say and do. She didn't know how much he was aware of, and it was best to sit back and let him make the first move.

"You know," Starbuck began, his manner outwardly calm. He approached her like a skittish young equine. "Usually when someone helps you out, it's considered polite to stick around and thank them."

Oriana bit her lip. He was holding back and studying her, just as she was him. A stranger sizing her up, knowing she wasn't an adversary, but not quite knowing where she fit in. "Sorry, " she muttered hesitantly.

"It's not too late. You can still file charges against those two. Not only would it get me off the hook—they've decided to charge me with assault, you know—but they wouldn't be able to bother you or any other woman on the _Galactica_ again."

She dropped her eyes from his intense gaze and instead looked at his boots. He didn't understand. She couldn't reveal herself to those two goons. Everything would unravel if she did. She wished she could explain herself, but instead she just shook her head. "I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

It wasn't an accusation, just a question. He shifted slightly as the lift came to a stop. The doors opened and he turned and grinned at the waiting cadets. "Sorry gang, we're full up. Next lift." He ignored their startled aspects and punched the control, the doors closing again.

Just as surprisingly, he deftly opened the control panel and began fiddling with the innards. Oriana tried to peak over his shoulder, but his shoulders impeded her view.

"What are you doing?" she asked with what she felt was a tense voice.

"Just making sure we don't get interrupted again." He told her and then chewed his lip as he punched in a series of numbers. "There," he muttered, satisfied.

"Uh . . . " She sucked in a deep breath. His easy demeanor had mislead her. He did mean business.

"I won't hurt you." He turned towards her suddenly, but still kept a safe distance. "I'm not threatening you here. I just want to talk to you. What's your name?"

"Oriana."

"What are you afraid of, Oriana?"

She smiled fleetingly, wondering if she had imagined the affect he put on the words, or if the handsome lieutenant just made every woman feel like a fairy princess when he softly spoke her name. She would have to delve deeper into that later.

"It's not that," she admitted.

"What then?"

"I can't . . . "

She heard him sigh and wondered what the next approach would be. From all that she had learned of him, he was a force to be reckoned with. Borka and Kaden had certainly found that out. But she knew that his talents were not limited to a physical capacity, he was also an intelligent man. He just tried his best to hide it behind his own particular style of braggadocio.

He ran his fingers through his hair and paused at the back of his neck, rubbing it briefly. "Lady, I get the feeling you're standing there with a full pyramid trying to make me think you've got nothing at all." A smile softened his words, but he studied her closely for her reaction.

Oh, he _was_ good.

"I'll tell you what, I'll make a statement to Security, but I won't press charges. That should get you off the hook, and it'll keep those two off my tra . . . back."

He nodded briefly and walked towards her, placing a hand on the wall behind her and leaning in close. "Okay. That will do for now. But I know you're up to something, and I'll figure it out sooner or later, Oriana."

"I _am_ on your side." She reassured him.

"I'd like to believe that. I can use all the allies I can get." He replied, an edge of bitterness in his voice. He returned to the control console, punching in another series of numbers and then closing the panel and selecting a level. "All the same, I think I'll come with you."

"Where?" she asked, although she knew the answer. She was just hoping for a little more time to arrange her thoughts and get her story straight.

"Security."


	15. Chapter 15

Starbuck waited impatiently as Willem, the Security Officer on duty, took Oriana into a closed office and obtained her statement. The lieutenant finally sat down at the desk, the computer station beckoning to him.

As usual though, the system was looking for a password so he could log on. Even the security code he had swiped from the captain wasn't getting him past this one. Oh, and his usual ploy of checking around the keyboard for the required watchword didn't get him anywhere either. Ultimately, he started punching in words at random to pass the time.

"Try _aegis_."

Starbuck startled momentarily and then sniffed in amusement as he typed in the word. Sure enough, the system fired up obediently. "After last night, I thought about bringing you some flowers," he teased Reece who peered over his shoulder.

"Don't remind me." Reece returned, his face twisted in a grimace. "Besides, you didn't even leave me your comm link," he murmured on a lighter note.

"Playing hard to get." Starbuck returned with a grin as he listened to the security officer's answering snort. He entered the personnel file and looked up Oriana.

"Who is she?" Reece asked.

"The woman Borka and Kaden were groping. She's a sanitation tech here on the _Galactica_. She's giving Will a statement now. The question is what prompted the attack?"

"I thought you figured it was a sexual assault in progress." Reece mentioned, surprised by the lieutenant's honesty.

"Maybe not." Starbuck opined vaguely.

"Interesting. Actually I agree with you. I think they were looking for this." He held out a small case, not much larger than a chronometer and handed it to the lieutenant. "We took it off of Borka."

Starbuck turned it over in his hand, noting the scuff marks and the dent on one side. There were no identifying marks whatsoever. It wasn't the latest in technology, but still it was an effective little gadget for recording a conversation inconspicuously. He hit the buttons, but to no avail. It was dead.

"Did you get anything from it?" Starbuck asked, handing it back.

"No. Dr. Wilker figures it had an auto-erase function of some sort. It was totally wiped clean."

"Auto-erase? Sounds sophisticated. Wonder what a sanitation technician would be doing with it?" Starbuck looked up at the officer.

"Exactly." Reece nodded and straightened up.

Starbuck returned his attention to the screen reviewing the information.

Thirty-three yahrens old and only employed on the _Galactica_ a sectar ago, Oriana had hailed from the _Malocchio_ Freighter. An interesting coincidence to be sure, Starbuck noted. Her personal profile was impeccable and her previous designation had been 'charwoman' in the great house of Sire Regus.

"What is it with you and these Empyreans?" Reece asked, still looking down at the screen.

"I was cursed. Remember?" Starbuck returned as he tried to think of who might know Oriana. A personnel file rarely told a person's relevant history. _Ah, maybe . . . _

"Sounds like you still are to me." Reece rejoined.

"Hmm. Any chance you can find out what's happening in there?" He nodded towards the security office.

"Yeah. Hold on a micron." Reece disappeared into the security office, holding the door ajar while he disappeared inside to talk with his partner.

Starbuck smiled to himself and quickly accessed Borka's file. His personnel file was unremarkable, so he accessed his Security file. There were several notations which suggested they were still investigating the man's history. He realized that it would be a monumental task to identify every former criminal in the fleet and connect new personas with past. It actually made fighting Cylons look pretty damn straight forward.

By the looks of it, they suspected Borka was formerly employed in a large chancery on Skorpia. Starbuck had gambled at the Dragon's Eye at least a couple times while on leave. You could bet on anything there. They also featured several professional triads games per season, which were sold out long before the teams were announced.

He remembered the Dragon's Eye being in the spotlight on more than one occasion, when two well known athletes were accused of throwing their games . . . He winced slightly, not liking the similarity of that situation to his own. It was a bit of a stretch though. For all he knew, Borka could have been a dealer or a sanitation tech there as well.

His eyes flickered over to the still partially closed door of the security office. Kaden's turn.

They had nothing on the man at all. Again, some elusive inference of a career in sports facilities, but other than that, his life was an unknown. Not even a guess. No personal references. No professional references. Every person the man ever knew was tragically dead. _Yeah, right._

"They're just finishing up, Starbuck."

Starbuck quickly closed the screen and returned to the personnel files he had been previously looking at, counting his lucky stars that Reece had found it amusing to lend him his password. "Did she tell him anything?"

"No. Not really. Just a story about having a few drinks too many and Borka taking her to the triad court for a little privacy. Then she claims that Kaden joined them and tried to turn it into a threesome. Then she screamed . . . enter you and the ensign."

"And the recording devise?"

"Says it's not hers. She claimed that she didn't even know what it was. Unfortunately, I couldn't get any evidence off it to repudiate her statement." Reece replied. "However, this does make their accusation against you groundless. I doubt it will go any further."

"She won't press charges against them though."

Reece shook his head. "I think she's afraid to. Willem told her we'd protect her, but she said it was all just a misunderstanding and she just wants to put it behind her."

"Mong."

"Yeah, her story stinks almost as bad as yours." Reece told him point blank.

Starbuck shrugged and stood up. "Some things are just irrelevant, Reece."

"It's my job to decide that, Starbuck." Reece returned briskly.

"And a fine job you do of it, officer." Starbuck smiled as he rose to leave.

"Don't patronize me."

"I'm not. Look, I appreciate what you did for me. And Luana."

"The felix is out of the bag anyway with your engagement and all. Why didn't you just tell us the truth?"

"I was just trying to protect the girl's reputation." He wasn't about to explain that he wasn't engaged yet again.

"Hades, she built her reputation long before you got into her pants."

Something inside of him snapped. Abruptly, he grabbed Reece by the jacket and slammed him up against the wall. "You . . . " He was about to insist that Reece take it back, but he realized how juvenile it sounded. Reece's eyes were wide with surprise at the intensity of the sudden attack and then the abrupt withdrawal as Starbuck loosened his grip and then let him go. _Frack. What are you thinking? Assaulting Reece in the Colonial Security office! Idiot!_

"What in Hades Hole is wrong with you?" Reece demanded angrily, straightening his tunic.

"Sorry." Starbuck muttered, brushing his hair out of his eyes and abruptly leaving the office. _Damned Empyreans! What were they doing to him?_


	16. Chapter 16

_In the overall picture, Empyreans feel we are a minority within the fleet. The differences between our peoples --values, faith, and overall customs--leave us feeling like outcasts. At the same time, our society is proud of its traits and defining characteristics and we feel like it is our duty to not only protect them, but also to develop them as we see fit._

_The Council was set up to represent the twelve colonies of man. But how can one man or woman represent all the people from a planet when our worlds were full of so much cultural diversity? Generally, it is the majority—the strongest nation, the most common religion—that is actually represented. _

_What I would like to see is a constitutional treaty that would permit the Empyreans to assert themselves as a distinct society on an equal footing with the Kobolian majority._

CommanderAdama adjusted the volume on the monitor in his quarters, Tinia at his side, as he watched Sire Regus making his speech. The Siress had warned him that something like this was coming. Though her delegation had been working hard to try and integrate the Empyreans into the fleet, she had met resistance from the Great Houses, most notably from Sire Regus.

Initially, her hopes had rested on the sealing of Lady Aurelia to Rogane, Sire Regus' eldest son. If she could first unite the oldest houses which had been squabbling for centi-yahrens about the future path of their people, then perhaps they could see their way to integrate with the rest of the Fleet. Of course, that had ended disastrously with a kiss between a wayward lieutenant and the intended bride.

Then, shortly thereafter, a routine landing party had made a monumental discovery when the Imperial House of Empyrean nobility, which had left Kobol with the rest of the thirteenth tribe to journey to Earth, was found on a planet. Not only were two branches of Empyreans united, but a clear substantiation that they were indeed on the correct route to Earth gave new and much needed hope to their people. Prior to this, the course given to them by the Ship of Lights guided them on their journey. While it was enough for those with devout faith, those seeking more concrete evidence were finally somewhat consoled.

That evidence was corroborated sectars later when Apollo's rescue party had found a log book which told of a small group of Empyreans who, instead of settling with their Imperial brethren, had continued on towards Earth. Still, their sectarian nature had them growing weary of their journey amidst other cultures and influences, and they had decided to settle on the planet Alrinach, also abandoning their quest for Earth. Once again, Adama had been able to bring tangible evidence to his people to reaffirm they were on the correct path.

History tended to repeat itself, and, indeed, the Empyreans had proven that time and time again, they would maintain their customs and traditions, cutting themselves off from outside influences. The only Empyreans who had changed ancient traditions to a certain extent were the Imperialists. They had done so out of necessity when the males in their society began to die off from a strange illness that did not effect the females. Ama and her people were much more prepared for change and assimilation within the fleet, but according to Tinia, it was an uphill battle all the way.

Now, with the Council of Twelve about to announce a date for an election, Adama couldn't help but wonder how much of this was bureaucratic scheming. Finally, the Fleet had come to the point where it could safely consider a mandate from the people. After all, the initial appointment of council members had been in a time of duress and crisis, in effect, forcing him to appoint a new Council.

After sectars of relative peace and no sightings of their mortal enemies, they could take the time to properly elect bureauticians to represent them in the Colonial tradition of democracy. Finally, the people would be given an opportunity to endorse their current representatives, or to replace them.

_And how do you envision this concept to be actualized, Sire Regus? _Zara asked him.

_I suggest that Colonial Law should be concerned with criminal and foreign policies, and that Civil Law should be the exclusive jurisdiction of the Empyreans on a more community based level. We would simply like to be granted formal law-making powers over cultural and social policy. _ _In this way we could preserve our time honoured traditions and culture._ _I'm certain we are not the only sectarians who feels this way._ Regus replied, his smile oily.

_Are you speaking for other groups as well, Sire Regus?_ Zara asked him.

_Not at all, Zara. Though ultimately I believe that it would work better if every ship-- or rather community, as I prefer to think of us—was to be given the same powers requested by Empyreans. Then they could either exercise these powers or reassign them back to the Council of Twelve, as they see fit. What I am asking for is policies that directly relate to our people being dictated by our people instead of by appointed bureauticians with little understanding of our needs or customs._

_Thank you, Sire Regus. While you're here, Sir. Would you like to comment on the betrothal of Ensign Luana and Lieutenant Starbuck? _ Zara smiled professionally, hoping for one more scoop on the infamous lieutenant.

Regus' features tightened with displeasure and he let out a carefully scripted breath. _I believe that Princess Luana's choice should be reconsidered. After all, in light of recent events concerning the lieutenant's triad activities as well as his violent attack on two civilians . . . well, I don't really feel he is an appropriate model for the Empyrean youth to emulate._

_But isn't Lieutenant Starbuck recognized as the savior of the Empyrean people since it was he who reunited your people with the Imperial Empyreans?_

_That is one interpretation. It does not happen to be mine. I feel it had far more to do with coincidence than prophesy in this instance. I believe our future lies in the strength of our culture and convictions and preserving both. Starbuck is simply not Empyrean. Our Princess should marry within our society, not to mention within her social rank. _

The picture zoomed in on the IFB correspondent.

_And now for a recap of the day's top stories—most of them featuring the swashbuckling Lieutenant Starbuck . . . _

Adama turned off the monitor with a snort of disgust. "I swear that boy is a one man demolition team." He shook his head and Tinia looked on in amusement as she poured them a drink.

"Ama thinks he's being set up with all this happening today. It's too coincidental."

"All the same, Starbuck has some kind of magnetic attraction to trouble." He waved a hand in the air to accentuate his point. "It finds him easily enough."

"Especially if it comes wearing a pretty smile." Tinia added, handing the Commander his ambrosa.

"Yes." Adama agreed, touching his glass to the councilwoman's. "And this betrothal? Is it genuine?" The last he had heard, Starbuck was still seeing Cassiopeia. He knew that the lieutenant moved fast, but not usually in matrimonial terms.

"I'm not certain. Although, if you've noticed, neither Starbuck or Luana have appeared publicly to deny it."

"And you think that this union will help the integration of the Empyreans?" Adama reminded himself of some of their past discussions.

"Sealing an Imperial princess with the most dashing bachelor on the _Galactica_? Most definitely." Tinia smiled.

"I thought _I_ was the most dashing bachelor on the _Galactica_." He smiled tenderly at her.

"I tend to think of you as the most _distinguished_ bachelor on the _Galactica_." Tinia clarified, squeezing his hand.

"Ah, I see." He chuckled at her explanation. "All the same, Sire Regus is obviously pressing to maintain the sectarian nature of their society with his proposal."

"Sire Regus is trying to maintain his own control in Empyrean Society. He seeks to regain the male dominated society that has been prevalent in their culture for most of their history." Tinia elucidated, her role as official liaison with the Empyrean people and member of the Council of Twelve giving her more insight into the situation. "That dominance was even more pronounced when the Imperial family joined the thirteenth tribe's journey to Earth, leaving the Great Houses to lead the Empyreans on to the Colonies."

"Ah, that is why Ama stayed to sit on the Empyrean Quorum even after her supposed retirement from leading her people."

"Yes, as necromancer to the Imperial family, she retains that right. One seat, one vote. The majority rules. _Siress_ Ama holds a seat. You remember Albus' mother? The necromancer who cursed Starbuck." She continued at his nod. "And Lady Aurelia as the eldest child of the House of Albus is also a Quorum member."

"And on the opposite end of the table, Sires Regus and Albus, and Regus' son, Rogane."

"Correct. Of course, Albus and Regus are waiting for Lady Aurelia to leave and fulfill her dream to join the Colonial Service, thereby, tipping the scale in favour of Regus. Especially as Lia and Luana have refused to take their places on the Quorum."

"And this _constitutional treaty _would be Regus' method of making what was once tradition into civil law."

"It would be akin to driving Empyrean women back into the dark ages of male dominance." She watched him quirk an eyebrow. "I know it sounds overly dramatic, but I assure you that that is how they perceive it."

"And perception is a very large part of what is truth."

"Indeed. How do you feel about granting special status to the Empyreans, Adama?"

He paused, sipping on his ambrosa before answering. "I cannot help but believe that if we cede greater bureaucratic powers, even civil ones, to the Empyreans, that their appetite for power will only grow."

She nodded. "I agree. The Empyrean people know what motivates Regus. Those who long for change will be quick to anger over this matter. I only hope Ama can curb the emotional tide that this speech may cause."

"With the promise of an Imperial Wedding?"

"With new hope for their future."

"Well, then, let us drink to the union of Starbuck and Luana. May we catch the groom in time to deliver him to the sealing." He raised his glass, a twinkle in his eyes.

"Adama!" she laughed, hearing the truth in his words and thankful they were alone in the privacy of his quarters. "Perhaps if you had a word with him. I know Starbuck values your opinion."

"Tinia . . . are you suggesting I convince Starbuck to marry against his wishes. . ."

"To a woman he loves passionately, in order to sway the Empyrean people towards integrating wholly within the fleet on the inevitable wave of the future. It's a win-win situation, Adama."

"I fail to see how a mere sealing could influence a society." Adama stated, pondering her words.

"Do you remember the excitement when the Empyreans held their Ball?" Her face lit up with animation. "Well, multiply that threefold. Nothing is more romantic or exciting than an Imperial Wedding, Adama. It's a fairy tale come to life. And if we could have a decorated Colonial Warrior marry an Imperial Princess, it would send a clear message to _all _our people that even the most sectarian of them are willing to assimilate."

"You've been conspiring with Ama. Haven't you?"

"Perhaps." She smiled at him, seeing the glow of approval in his eyes. Not only was she a capable bureautician, she understood what moved and motivated people. The only thing remaining was to figure out how they could convince Starbuck of the wisdom of their plan.

Abruptly, the sound of Adama's comm interrupted. He rose from the longseat, moving to the monitor. "Yes, Tigh."

"Commander, I'm sorry to disturb you, but we have a situation building on the _Malocchio_ Freighter."

"I'll be right there, Colonel." Adama replied, he turned to Siress Tinia. "As official liaison to the Empyreans, perhaps you should attend."

She nodded solemnly. "Of course, Commander."


	17. Chapter 17

_Okay, there's only so much a guy can take in one day. _It seemed that the IFB monitors were everywhere Starbuck went, and he was featured on them constantly. He made a point of avoiding them, but his friends and passersby were _kind_ enough to give him the latest updates, as he made his way around the _Galactica_ searching for Luana and trying to finalize the locale for his big card game. Maybe that had something to do with the fact that he had a very strong urge to launch himself into space. And at this point, taking a Viper was optional.

The latest news was Sire Regus talking about him like he was the scourge of the Empyrean Empire, and that was right on the tail end of Borka and Kaden's completely fictitious recount of his attack on them.

Someone was trying to drag him and his reputation through the mong heap. He just didn't quite understand why. But he was beginning to get an idea it had more to do with bureaucratic felgercarb, than anything on a personal level.

His gaze settled on another monitor as he prepared to leave the office of the man in charge of ship maintenance and repairs. Coincidentally, Xerxes was also the latest person to join the card game. This time he wandered over and turned up the volume. Flanked by both Empyrean necromancers, Lady Aurelia was being interviewed by Zed.

_I would like to repudiate the statement made by Sire Regus and to make it clear that it was not made on behalf of the Empyrean Quorum. It is solely Sire Regus' position that Empyreans want to perpetuate the archaic tradition of a sectarian society. Furthermore, it is merely because of his fear that the mighty tide of change will sweep away his values, faith and customs that he seeks a civil law to maintain them._

_The Empyrean people, however, know that if we truly have a culture worth preserving, it will not require a constitutional treaty demanding special status from our Colonial brothers. Culture will be preserved as it always has, through the passing on of time honoured traditions from one generation to the next._

_We believe that by fully integrating into the Colonial Fleet, we can combine the best of our societies. With tolerance and understanding on all of our parts, we will become stronger, which is truly what we need to do if we are to defeat the Cylon Empire. One people with one purpose. Victory._

Starbuck smiled. Aurelia had come a long way since the Empyrean Ball. In fact, she seemed to be turning into a fine bureautician. He couldn't help but wonder if she would ever follow her dream to become a warrior. If the proud glow on her grandmother's face was any indication, she looked to be destined for a career of Empyrean diplomacy.

_Lady Aurelia,_ Zed was asking, _could you also give us your opinion of Lieutenant Starbuck and Ensign Luana's engagement?_

_We couldn't be happier with Ensign Luana's choice. Lieutenant Starbuck is a decorated Colonial Warrior and a hero to our people. It is a wonderful omen, uniting the Colonials and the Empyreans in this holy bond of matrimony._

Starbuck's smile slipped as he watched the three women beam with joy. _What the frack were they up to? _

Now Ama definitely was known for dancing to the beat of her own Empyrean tambour, but Aurelia . . . well, he hadn't expected her to turn on him like this. Hadn't he saved the poor girl from a fate worse than death--unholy matrimony to that toad, Rogane.Bloody Hades Hole, the whole universe was going crazy. Well, okay, _his_ universe was going crazy.

A clap on his shoulder drew him out of his reverie.

"I never thought I'd see the day that you'd get sealed, Starbuck. Congratulations. All the best to you and your pretty lady." Xerxes smiled at him. "And a princess! Amazing how things change."

"Amazing." Starbuck muttered in return. "I'll see you at 2000 centars, Xerxes. Thanks again." He shook his head ruefully as he headed to the lift. Well, at least someone was finally happy for him, and not just shocked that he was getting married. _Wait a centon! What are you thinking, Bucko?_


	18. Chapter 18

The mood was turbulent at the packed alehouse known as the Tankard, aboard the _Malocchio_ Freighter. The taps poured forth their potent brews at half the usual cost to the people that made the finest ales in the Fleet. It had been the Imperial Empyreans way of thanking their brethren for the hearty welcome.

Enjoying an ale had been a custom that had persevered for centi-yahrens for both Empyrean cultures. After all, the Empyrean Colonists had developed some of the finest Sagittarian Ales ever made, long before they had united with the brew masters of the planet Empyrean. Now, the tradition had evolved into a social event, with several alehouses opening throughout the Freighter.

Traditional music, food, and boisterous debate were on the daily menu. People could escape there to discuss current events and forget that they were immured by the cold, metal hulk that transported them through the vast unknowns of space.

". . . a system relying on a few high-society laggards." He held his bottle of ale up to the crowd gathered before him. "How are we supposed to get equal representation? We're not!"

The crowd rumbled, some in agreement, some against. Another man raised his tankard. "He is right! The time has come to get representation of the _people_ in our bureaucratic system. Why do we sit idly by and let them dictate our future to us?"

"Because they always have." A single small voice in the crowd replied.

Again the crowd erupted in heated discussion. A woman climbed on a table, waving her arms to draw some attention.

"There is a certain amount of truth in what our brother says. But the time has come for change. Sire Regus is trying to increase our power by allowing us to dictate our own laws, preserving our culture."

"That is such twaddle. Regus is trying to keep us under his thumb, as his kind always has." A powerfully built, dark haired woman told them. She wore the garb of the Empyrean Guard.

"Kella, you don't know the man as we do. He has ruled us well for a generation. He is asking the Council of Twelve for legislation allowing us to manage our own affairs as we always have." A short, stocky man with a swarthy complexion and jet black hair returned.

"As you always have." Kella sneered. "Exactly. Listen to the truth in your words. Regus seeks special powers for the Empyrean Quorum, not for the people. He has no intention of losing his control over his vassals." She hoisted her own ale, despising how her brothers could not hold their liquor. They were weak. Unconditioned. She glared meaningfully at him.

"We all heard his words, Kella."

"Yes, the usual bureaucratic nonsense that he spins. Making you all believe one thing while he intends another."

"You rely too much on your necromancer, Kella. She is old and past her prime."

"I rely on no one, Roldan. I see only with my own two eyes. I always have. Our future is with the Colonists. We must unite with the Fleet."

Her first choice was actually to find another planet to settle, a group of healthy males and females, and get off this tub of iron in the middle of space where sunlight, gentle breezes and spring rain were but a fleeting memory of her life on Empyrean.

But the warrior Starbuck had warned her that a race of aliens, many of them machines, pursued the humans. They would not rest until every last man, woman and child was extinct. Lia had seen the Colonial archives and had verified the man's story and their brethren certainly could provide endless tales of horror regarding their mortal enemy.

Crossbows, arrows and daggers were a poor defense against machines such as the Cylons. The fleet provided a measure of safety, but it wasn't for safety that Kella would remain with them.

She had spent a lifetime protecting the Imperial family, and she would not be deterred from her path for her own mundane preferences and pleasures. In fact, she had even enlisted to become a Colonial Warrior, in hopes of being closer to the princesses to be better able to champion them. She awaited the acceptance of her application. In the meantime, she continued to serve the Imperial Necromancer.

"Through the connubial union of Princess Luana and Lieutenant Starbuck, our Colonial brothers will recognize our willingness for change." A great cheer followed the declaration from another woman.

"Regus won't permit the Princess to marry a commoner." Roldan hollered.

"It is not up to Regus." Kella hurled at them. "The Imperial Princess, in absence of an Emperor, may choose her own consort."

"Rumour has it more likely that this is just a fabrication to encourage the masses. Lieutenant Starbuck had shown no inclination towards a blessed union afore." Roldan mocked her.

"Because he had not met an Empyrean Princess afore. Remember, he also had eyes for Lady Aurelia." A aged man with a long, flowing beard roared. "The Great Kaula spoke of our savior. _He will unite us and make us strong,_ the prophesy said. This is but another part of the prophesy that must be played out."

"We must maintain our traditions, Yehudi!" Roldan argued, just as emphatically. "Or else we will simply disappear within the masses that are the Colonists."

"We must soar on the winds of change as the Great Kaula describes in his prophecy." Yehudi declared.

"Damn the Prophet!" Roldan blared.

The alehouse exploded at the blasphemy, alcohol induced emotions flaring as the occupants took their tempers to the main arteries of the Freighter. They joined the others that had already amassed, shouting their disapproval, confusion and anger.


	19. Chapter 19

"What's the situation, Colonel?" Commander Adama asked as he strode onto the bridge with Siress Tinia at his side. The atmosphere was tense as bridge personnel attended to their duties with brisk efficacy.

Tigh paused as he saw Captain Apollo arrive on his father's heels. The younger man took the stairs to the command center two at a time as he joined them. "Captain Valeray of the _Malocchio_ Freighter reports a widespread uprising across the ship, Commander. Security personnel have been overcome by the masses, and there have been several attempts to take the bridge. As yet they have been unsuccessful." Tigh replied, bringing up the schematic of the _Malocchio_ on screen.

"Have we heard from the Empyrean Quorum?" Siress Tinia asked, her fingers touching her lips lightly in a gesture of concern. As liaison to the Empyreans, she felt she had better come up with some ideas quickly to help with the crisis.

The Colonel's eyes flickered over her and then to his commanding officer. Adama nodded briefly, his eyes conveying a respect for the Councilwoman that the Executive Officer hadn't quite accepted.

"Lady Aurelia and the Ama's are currently on the _Rising Star_. We have forestalled their departure until the _Malocchio_ is secure." Tigh told them.

"And Sires Regus and Albus?" Tinia enquired.

"Captain Valeray has been unable to make contact with them. There has also been no contact from the leader of this uprising."

"Assuming there is one." Adama interjected. He turned to his son. "Apollo, organize a squad to board and secure the _Malocchio_ Freighter. Four shuttles with four teams, comprised of both warriors and security officers. Have full riot gear at the ready, but use it only if absolutely necessary. As always, we must abstain from using force with our civilians if at all possible." He looked back at the Colonel. "Tigh, let Dr. Salik know we'll need a medical team."

"Father, I think we should consult Ensigns Lia and Luana." Apollo added. "They might be able to dispel the insurrection without any further violence. After all, though they decided to abdicate, they _are_ the Imperial princesses. The Empyrean people may listen to them more readily than a group of Colonial Warriors." Lia had been raised to lead her people. She had the instincts of a bureautician, whether she chose to use them or not.

"I agree, Adama." Tinia nodded, lightly touching his arm. "Furthermore, if we have the Ama's and Lady Aurelia, along with the Ensigns, arrive on the first shuttle as ambassadors to discuss the Empyreans concerns, I believe our chances at avoiding further aggression would improve drastically."

Adama nodded. "Very well, Organize the teams and pick up those members of the Empyrean Quorum on the way to the _Malocchio_."

"Commander . . . " Tigh said carefully. "Considering the recent . . . publicity concerning Lieutenant Starbuck, perhaps it would be best if he stayed on the _Galactica_."

Tinia shook her head. "Just the opposite, Colonel. Most of the Empyreans still feel that the lieutenant is their prophesized savior. And especially considering the announcement of the engagement, he should be there."

"Tinia . . . " Adama's voice was low. He watched his son's brow furrow in concern and his eyes narrow.

"I'm not trying to force him into anything, Adama. His mere presence at Luana's side may be enough to get them to calm down and listen to the Quorum. Isn't that the priority?"

"Of course." Adama concurred. "Apollo, make sure Starbuck is appropriately briefed. I want him going in with his eyes wide open."

"Father, are you telling me that Starbuck is going to have to agree to marry Luana in front of the Empyrean people?" Apollo looked at his father dumbfounded.

"I hope not." Adama sighed. "I admit that the nature of the Empyreans with their fervent belief in their prophesy and their necromancers somewhat escapes me. I cannot fathom how this union between Luana and Starbuck would end their sudden anarchy, but others, more familiar with their ways, disagree." He shrugged at his son, while nodding briefly at Siress Tinia.

"Ama and Aurelia insist it is the key to easing their people's disquiet." Tinia returned.

"Starbuck's not going to like it." Apollo met his father's eye, imparting his own dislike for the plan.

"I don't expect him to. All the same, if it will prevent further violence on the largest passenger freighter in the fleet, he _will_ go along with it."

"Commander's orders?" Apollo asked, his jaw tight with his barely controlled anger.

Adama sighed. "It is merely a charade, Apollo. But if Starbuck needs to hear it, then tell him it's upon my orders."

"Yes, sir."


	20. Chapter 20

"You've got to be joking!" Starbuck raved, rising angrily from the seat that faced Apollo across the desk of the duty office.

"Afraid not." Apollo returned quietly as he shifted in his seat.

Starbuck pounded a fist on the desk, looming towards his captain. "He can't order me to . . . " He threw up his hands helplessly and turned abruptly, pacing across the room. He eyed the filing cabinet, viciously slamming the open drawer shut, before again turning sharply to see the amused glance of his friend upon him.

"Are you finished? Or should I bring in some more furniture for you to abuse?" the captain asked, putting his feet on his desk in a deliberate display of calmness.

Starbuck's eyes narrowed. "I'm glad you find it so amusing. It's always good to know I can still manage to spread a little sunshine, while you personally enjoy my misery and suffering."

"Some guys would like just a tenth of _your_ kind of misery and suffering." Apollo ribbed him, as he watched his friend run his fingers back through his hair in the familiar gesture of anxiety that was his alone. "Sit down, Bucko."

"Look, I don't pretend to know the regulation manual from back to front . . . " He pointed a finger at Apollo, whose smirk had at that moment turned into a full blown smile with a probable propensity towards a chuckle. "Don't say a thing, I'm _not_ finished."

Apollo help up his hands defensively.

"The Commander _can't_ order me to get married!" Starbuck blustered.

"You took an oath, Starbuck. We all did. Sometimes we need to make . . . sacrifices." Apollo told him with a shrug, not quite ready to put him out of his misery. "You _know_ that."

"Sacrifices? Frack, if I'd known they were talking about my matrimonial status instead of just my life, I wouldn't have signed up." Starbuck muttered in disgust. "Ama wasn't there, was she?" he asked suddenly and suspiciously.

"No, I already told you, she was on the _Rising Star_. We're going to pick them up on the way to the _Malocchio_."

"She's behind this somehow." Starbuck muttered. All the forces of the universe were again conspiring against him. It was painfully similar to the period during which he had been the victim of an Empyrean curse . . . Ama _had_ to be in on it.

"You think Ama caused her own people to riot so she could force you to marry her goddaughter?" Apollo asked skeptically.

"Well, when you put it like that . . ." Starbuck trailed off. He returned to the chair, dropping down into it wearily and cradling his head in his hands. He rubbed his eyes morosely.

Apollo dropped his feet back to the ground and sat facing his friend. "Look, Starbuck, it's just a facade. The Commander doesn't really expect you to marry Luana. He just wants you to present a . . . united front." He saw the lieutenant's blue eyes peek out reluctantly from behind his fingers. "Make the Empyreans think that their . . . savior and princess are really engaged."

"And just what is that supposed to accomplish?" Starbuck asked, shaking his head dumbfounded as he dragged his fingers down his face. Lords, he still hadn't had a chance to talk to Cassiopeia. Or Luana.

"According to Siress Tinia, they feel torn between Regus' desire to set them more clearly apart with his demand for a 'distinct society', versus the vision of moving forward and amalgamating more wholly with the people of the fleet. If the engagement is . . . authenticated, joining their princess with a Caprican, then they might actually believe that their future is less uncertain."

"By the virtue of the Goddess Triquetra . . . " Starbuck muttered disdainfully, mimicking Ama. The Empyreans were accustomed to being led. Whether by an Imperial Family, or the Sires of the Great Houses, they had followed blindly like ovines for generations. A rift between the two political forces and their vision for their _flock_ was a dilemma and crisis that the Empyreans were not prepared for. He knew enough about their people to realize this. That was the real joke of the situation. He—among all the Colonials—understood the Empyreans probably the best because of his close affiliation with Luana, Lia and Ama. Yeah, the guy who was the most adversely affected by the dilemma, also had the closest understanding of _why_ he had to follow Adama's orders. _Frack!_

"The younger generation is excited at leaving some of their 'old-fashioned' standards and ideals behind, while others aren't quite ready to give up age-old traditions which they've cherished for generations. It's not exactly mind-blowing stuff, but it's monumental for them." Starbuck summarized. He rubbed the back of his neck as he thought about it. "The prophesy is Ama's capstone. It sucks them all in, young and old."

"_Sucks them all in._" Apollo quoted him with a wry grin. "You have a way with words. How do you mean?"

"I'm supposed to unite the Empyreans and make them strong. Remember? Now, when they're experiencing a real political rift of this magnitude . . . " He abandoned his train of thought as his own words sunk in. "That convoluted prophesy that just about every one of them has read, they all believe in it fervently . . . especially when it suits their purpose. Oh Lords, I'm so fracked."

Apollo snorted. "I thought that part of the prophecy was supposed to relate to when you helped bring them into the fleet from the planet Empyrean?" Apollo asked, climbing to his feet as he checked his chronometer. Admittedly, his recollection of the sacred Empyrean prediction was a bit shaky.

"It's a prophesy, Apollo. The _Great Kaula_ didn't place any limitations on how many times I would fulfill it." Starbuck smiled self-deprecatingly, his own disbelief in the prophecy evident with his words.

"Hmm. If that's true, I could see why they'd want you hanging around." Apollo smiled. "So . . . are you okay with all this?" The fact of the matter was he needed Starbuck to be in top form if they were going into a crisis management situation. A distracted, angry lieutenant was not going to be helpful.

"Hades, no." Starbuck snapped before taking a deep breath and blowing it out noisily between pursed lips as he climbed to his feet. "But I'll get it together . . . just like I always do."

Apollo nodded soberly. Despite his friend's flare for the dramatic, Starbuck was a professional. He would get control of his emotions and carry out his assignment. "That's what I needed to hear. Let's go."


	21. Chapter 21

All she needed was a little push. But then, that's what sisters were for. Lia's hand nudged her firmly and squarely in the back, and her body followed the silent command to walk forward off the turbo lift.

Luana wasn't going to let them see her squirm. She held her head high, remembering her father's words of wisdom, "you get your nose up in the air too far, and you're going to drown on a wet day on Empyrean, my girl". A hint of a smile crossed her face at the memory of her father, and the strength he was still giving her on a daily basis.

"Looking good, Lu." Lia murmured in encouragement. Captain Apollo had spoken with her briefly and assigned her one task: find Luana and get her to launch bay Alpha within the centar. Of course, the captain had an even more challenging assignment; he had to find Starbuck.

Well, since the announcement of the engagement, Luana had disappeared. When Lia had finally caught up with her sister, Luana was frustrated, anxious and defeated. She hadn't found Starbuck to straighten out the mammoth mess that Ama had placed them in.

Of course, Luana had wasted no time in blasting Lia for her part in all of it. She was guilty of the traitorous and diabolical act of admitting to their godmother that Luana and Starbuck had indeed _conjugated_. Lia didn't bother to tell Lu that Ama, in her usual mystical way, had seemed to know about it anyway, and had really dragged it out of her reluctantly. Never in a million yahrens had she guessed that Ama would then turn around and try to force the couple into a premature marriage. Lia had a few words for her Godmother . . . if there was anything left of the retired necromancer once Luana was through with her.

She steered her younger sister towards their assigned shuttle, noting how woodenly Luana was moving. Her usual feline grace was all but gone, as she steadfastly avoided curious gazes, at the same time, searching desperately for any sign of Starbuck.

"We're still waiting on Apollo and Starbuck." Boomer announced with his usual friendly smile, as they approached. A sympathetic glance in Luana's direction was all that gave away his knowledge of the predicament.

Lia nodded, thankful for Boomer's usual perceptiveness and tact. "Thanks Boomer. Do you need any help loading up?"

"No. We're ready." Boomer stood aside to let them board. "Ah, here they are now." His gaze looked over their heads, back towards the lift.

Luana whirled on the spot. Her eyes sought him hungrily, as the lift settled on their level. Apollo had the lieutenant by the arm and was speaking to him, as he propelled him towards the transport. Starbuck was nodding distractedly, looking in the other direction, before his eyes suddenly and inexplicably locked on hers.

He had his card playing face firmly in place.

Luana swallowed the lump in her throat. He must really hate her to shut her out so completely. The thin façade that she had built up brick by brick began to crumble as his cold, blue eyes appraised her. She blinked several times to force back the evidence of her turbulent emotions. She straightened her back, tipped up her chin, and clenched her teeth. She wouldn't lose it here. Not in front of her peers. She refused to tarnish the memory of her father by behaving like an immature school girl.

"Can we give them a moment, Captain?"

It was Lia's voice. She was squeezing Lu's arm reassuringly. Strangely, all Luana could see now was a pair of scuffed Colonial boots in front of her own. Almost touching hers, but not quite. She wondered if that was somehow symbolic of their entire relationship. Well, up until last night anyhow.

"Just a centon though. Alright, Starbuck?" The captain's voice replied.

"Right." Starbuck's reply. His voice sounded strained and clipped.

Lu cleared her throat. A gentle hand suddenly cupped her chin and coaxed it up, until she was gazing into his eyes once again. This time, however, concern replaced the cold stare of the moment before.

"Are you okay?" He whispered to her.

She was certain she could feel the warmth of his body heat, he was standing so closely. But then, he'd always had that effect on her. "I'm so sorry, Starbuck. I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

His eyes searched her face for a few microns, before he nodded. "I know."

"You do?" she asked him, slightly amazed. She had seldom met anyone more cynical of female nature than he was; the last thing she had expected was his trust.

He smiled slightly at her reaction, brushing a stray tendril of hair back off her face. "I do _now_, " he admitted.

"I thought you'd hate me." Luana told him, grasping his hand.

"No." He shook his head, and cocked it to one side. "But sweetheart, I'm _not_ ready to get married."

"Neither am I!" Lu insisted.

Starbuck blew out a breath of relief. "Good, then we're in agreement?"

"Oh, yes!" Luana grinned her first real smile since she had heard Sire Dracus on the IFB that morning.

"Then I'd better warn you now, I'm going to kill your godmother when we land on the _Rising Star_."

"Get in line, Starbuck. Get in line." She declared.


	22. Chapter 22

Starbuck could feel the warmth of Luana on his right side as they sat side by side on the shuttle. At first, it was like any other time they had been together on duty, but then Lu's leg had pressed ever so slightly against his, as though to remind him of her presence. He returned the same pressure, feeling a bit like a kid in school as the captain's gaze settled on them in apparent consternation.

Starbuck met Apollo's eyes with an easy grin. Fraternization. Once upon a time, it had been dissuaded, and even punished, but that was a lifetime ago. Before all of their worlds had been turned upside down or blown to Hades Hole.

Really, Apollo had taken fraternizing to a whole new level in his relationship with Sheba. Then again, he had also insisted on them remaining in separate squadrons for the very same reasons that were likely zipping through the captain's mind right now. In a perilous situation, would they perform effectively if they were too worried about their lover to pay adequate attention to the situation at hand?

Starbuck could just about hear the wheels turning in Apollo's head as he rubbed his jaw, while watching the pair. Yeah, Starbuck had pulled a few strings to maneuver Luana and Lia into Blue Squadron, where they could benefit from the watchful eyes and tutelage of the hottest pilots in the fleet. At the time though, his motives had been irreproachable. It had nothing whatsoever to do with a budding romance.

Though most people wouldn't believe it, Starbuck had never abused his friendship with the captain for his own selfish purposes. He knew there was a line he couldn't cross, and while he was perfectly willing to stand on his tiptoes in a stiff breeze upon that line, he wouldn't step over it. He had too much respect for Apollo.

That was why he was restraining himself now.

As much as he'd like to do something about the slender fingers that were tucked into his pants, surreptitiously tugging at his tunic and lightly stroking the flesh at his waist, he kept his hands to himself. No one else could see what Luana was up to beneath the cover of his open flight jacket, especially considering her proximity. Besides, he was kind of enjoying the attention. Despite what it was doing to his concentration.

Yeah, when he had hit the launch bay, he was totally focused on the mission. Even seeing Luana hadn't broken through his demeanour. But then their eyes had met and he had seen her gradually crumble before him. No one else would have detected it, because she held herself erect and proud, as always. It had been revealed in her eyes as they slowly dropped from his own. He'd immediately known he'd been the cause.

It was a gut reaction, to connect with her. It had little to do with them suddenly becoming lovers, and everything to do with his wanting to comfort someone he cared about. Just a few simple words was all it took to clear the air between them. At least that was how it first seemed. Then he had started thinking.

Ama's words came back to him. _You know how the girl cares for you._

He was willing to bet that the _little something_ he kept detecting behind her guise of 'no promises, no expectations, no kiss and tell', was infatuation. Of course, it could also be that _other_ emotion. That one that generally scared the Hades out of him and made him want to find a vacuous black hole in space in which to disappear into.

Yeah_, it_ was nothing but trouble. It was akin to the most intoxicating of drinks. The moments before you actually experienced it were often the most tantalizing. The build up was phenomenal. Then, when you actually tasted it, embraced it with your entire being, the feeling was incomparable to just about anything else in life. For a little while.

It never seemed to last though.

It really should be redefined in the dictionary as 'a temporary, though intense emotion involving infatuation and lust'. Then at least no one would be disappointed when sometime later you found yourself staring at your irate lover, and wondering just why the position of the turbo flush seat was suddenly and irrationally important at 0300 centars.

A sharp poke in his side made him jerk and he turned to Luana, her dark brown eyes full of devilry. They had just landed on the _Rising Star_. Any centon the Empyrean Quorum, or half of it, would be boarding.

"Watcha thinking about?" she asked. "You're a million parsecs away."

He smiled at her and shrugged. "Turbo flushes."

"Didn't anyone teach you that you should go before you started a mission?" She teased him, her fine brows arched at his response.

"I probably dozed off during that part." He paused as he watched the hatch open.

Ama was the first aboard. Her intense gaze seemed to find him in a micron, and she smiled, making a beeline in their direction. Aurelia and Siress Ama followed on her heels.

"Lord suffering, sweet Sagan, I can see that we need to talk about this if you're going to be any use to me on the _Malocchio_." Ama shook her head at them as they regarded her coolly.

Starbuck's eyes narrowed at her words. "Ama . . . " he growled.

"Stop right there, Starbuck. You need to listen." She told him sharply. "This has ceased to be about just you and Luana. Now it's about the Empyrean people. There's a crisis on our home ship and we need to resolve that before you and I get into any paltry discussions about how I seemed to mislead you."

"Seemed to?" he asked sarcastically.

"You had no right to make that announcement, Ama." Luana added angrily.

"I did what I had to do. Leaders often must. Lia understands that, don't you, girl?" Ama nodded at Luana's sister, sitting on the young woman's other side. "There's more to this than you think. Much more. Something had to be done to stop Regus from gaining momentum. I know it was drastic, but so be it. I'd do it again for my people."

"Why do you always insist on being so Goddamned cryptic?" Starbuck shook his head in exasperation. She had a way of making his arguments pale in the wake of her declarations. "Just tell us what's happening!"

"All will be revealed in time, Starbuck. Just be patient. Trust your instincts." Ama told him, patting his knee maternally as she took the seat next to him.

"Don't feed me that felgercarb, Ama."

"My dear boy, you're getting positively antagonistic towards me." Ama shook her head in dismay.

"Yeah, I wonder why." He retorted.

"Lieutenant. " A sharp, brief warning.

Starbuck sighed at the disapproving tone of his captain. Somewhere along the way he had completely lost the professional demeanour he had carefully erected after his meeting with Apollo. He clenched his jaw, reining in his anger once again.

"Ama, Starbuck's right. You need to let us know what's happening. All of it." Apollo told her, taking a seat opposite her.

"Oh, the bureaucratic intricacies are too boring to spend the next few centars labouring over them, Captain Apollo. Suffice it to say, that Regus and Albus are making a bid for control of the Quorum. Ultimately, when the Council of Twelve denies them "a distinct society" status, they will then try and convince our people that the time has once again come to abandon the path for Earth and settle on a cozy little planet."

"Once again?" Boomer asked, caught up in the conversation. "Did I miss something?"

"Remember, Lieutenant, our branch of Empyreans have abandoned the quest for Earth twice already after leaving with the thirteenth tribe from Kobol. First we settled on the planet Empyrean, then many of those who had chosen to continue to Earth eventually settled on Alrin." Lia explained, making room for Aurelia to sit beside her.

"Our people despise being immured by four walls, Lieutenant Boomer." Aurelia inserted. "I suspect it's even worse for those who have recently come from their planetary home. Much like the Borellian Nomen, it is very much in our nature to want to have the kiss of the sun's rays upon our faces, not the cold barrier of safety glass pressed against our cheeks, as we gaze out on the vastness of space wondering if we'll escape our temporary prison within this lifetime."

"Everybody feels that to a certain extent." Boomer returned to the young woman.

"It doesn't make the feeling any less powerful for it to be shared with others, Lieutenant." Aurelia replied with a shrug. "Then there's the ale . . ."

"The ale?" Starbuck asked. Ale seemed like one Hades of a good idea just about now.

Siress Ama, Aurelia's grandmother, cleared her throat, getting their attention. She sat at the edge of the group, dressed neatly, her hair perfectly coifed. "Our people have brewed ale for centi-yahrens. It was never a problem. However, the tendency to overindulge has increased significantly since our brethren have transformed our ship into an oversized brew house." She looked pointedly at the Imperial Necromancer.

"Well, if I'd known you couldn't hold your ale . . ." Ama shrugged.

"_That_ has little to do with it!" The Siress returned sharply. "You handed a beverage to a drowning man, Ama!"

"Well, at least he'll die with a smile on his face." Ama returned indifferently.

"Can you not accept the blame for anything?" The Siress snapped.

"No." Starbuck and Luana answered for her.

"This isn't helping." Lia interrupted, not seeing the satisfied, though fleeting smirk skip across her godmother's features. "We need a plan. What are we going to do when we arrive on the _Malocchio_?"

"Go for a drink?" Ama asked acerbically. She elbowed Starbuck at the sound of his snort of appreciation. "You coming with me then, Starbuck? I know a great little alehouse . . ."

"Stop it." Lia ordered her.

"Are you taking your rightful position up again?" Ama asked.

"Ama . . . I can't. I'm a warrior now!" Lia seethed. "I'll make my contribution defending the fleet!"

"The Empyreans don't need warriors, they need their Emperor." Ama returned. "Now, more than ever."

"That's not what you said when we decided to abdicate." Luana reminded her. She sensed, more than heard, the sharp intake of breath from her lover. "What?" she asked him.

"You never really expected them to graduate, did you Ama?" Starbuck muttered accusingly.

"Well . . ." Ama shrugged. "I was prouder than ever before when they did. But no, I didn't see it coming."

"Parlour trickster." Starbuck ribbed her, realizing she had never intended for her goddaughters to leave her realm of influence. It was gratifying to know he had a major role in upsetting her machinations.

"I can still turn you into a putrid, Starbuck. Watch yourself." Ama threatened him.

"Can you turn Luana into one too? It'll put an interesting twist on the wedding, don't you think?" Starbuck returned with a grin, thinking about the foul smelling mammal he had encountered on Empyrean.

"Don't push me." Her eyes flashed in warning.

"Maybe it's time somebody did." He met her gaze steadily.

"Enough!" Lia shouted. Her eyes swung to the Strike Captain, silently beseeching him for assistance.

Apollo nodded. "Lia's right. This _isn't_ the time to air your differences. I assume you have something of a plan, Ama? Would you care to share it with us?" He had had a plan as well, but somehow he didn't think he would be using it now.

"Always the voice of reason, Captain. That's one of the things I admire about you." Ama commented, collecting her thoughts. "Very well. This shuttle will be the only one permitted to land. We'll be a peace envoy, so to speak. I believe that we'll be able to sort out our problems without violence. Once our people see that their Quorum is safe, not to mention that their princesses and savior are present, we will be able to proceed."

"With what?" Starbuck asked, getting a bad feeling that this whole scene had already been written and they were simply playing out the parts.

"I suspect that they'll want a test of your fortitude, Starbuck, before we can proceed with any negotiations." She returned evasively.

"What the fra . . . what are you talking about?" Starbuck growled.

"The Fires of Truth." She answered with a smile.

"Skipper!" Jolly called from the flight deck. "Message from the _Malocchio_. They're only giving permission for our shuttle to land. Apparently, the insurgents have taken the bridge, Sir. They want to meet with the peace envoy and guarantee safe passage if we honour their request."

"Any word on Captain Valeray or the crew?" Apollo asked in concern.

"It's the Captain that I'm speaking to. He says that the crew are unharmed and will remain that way if we cooperate, Skipper."

"They sound very organized for a group of rebels." Boomer noted.

"Exactly." Starbuck agreed as he glared suspiciously at Ama.

"Hmm." Ama responded, a slight smile tugging at her lips and her eyes narrowing just a fraction.

"All right, Jolly. Proceed as directed and notify the _Galactica_ of the change of plans. Direct the other three shuttles to stand by." Apollo ordered, wondering whether it was Ama's powers of necromancy or talents of bureaucratic prowess at work here.


	23. Chapter 23

It was eerily quiet in the landing bay for a freighter that was supposedly undergoing a massive riot. The _Malocchio_'s landing bay more resembled a loading dock than the usual utilitarian bay they were accustomed to seeing in the fleet. Crates of Empyrean ale and fumarellos were stacked high, awaiting the next shipment to more eager consumers. Starbuck followed Apollo's lead, his eyes sweeping the vast space, as he moved into position. He nodded towards Boomer who joined him quickly.

"Must be a new _kind_ of riot that we're not aware of." Boomer suggested, feeling a bit ridiculous as he covered his friend's back. There wasn't a rebel in sight.

"They like to do things differently here." Starbuck agreed, muttering over his shoulder. "Very civil and dignified for a insurrection. I like it." He looked back at the shuttle to see a very amused Ama hovering at the entrance. "Care to explain?"

"I don't know what you mean, Lieutenant." Ama replied formerly. "Is it safe to come out now, Captain Apollo?"

Apollo paused, assessing her. She didn't play the part of helpless female very convincingly. "What's happening here, Ama?" Even he felt a bit foolish organizing his forces in a defensive position when there was clearly no reception planned for them.

"Perhaps they are simply gathering elsewhere in the ship." Ama suggested.

"Or they announced 'last call' at the Tankard." Starbuck quipped, a slow, satisfied smile creeping across his face at her answering glower.

"I'm certain someone will be along." Ama assured them. "Ah, here they are now."

"All three of them." Boomer muttered aside to his friend.

The three Empyreans entered the bay cautiously, approaching the warriors only after an encouraging nod from the Captain. Apollo recognized Kella as one of the Imperial Guard. Two men accompanied her, one about his father's age with a long white beard, and the other perhaps a deca-yahren older than himself with black hair and a darker, almost sun-burnt complexion.

"Allow me to make our introductions. I am Yehudi. This is Kella and Roldan. Our representatives are prepared to see you now, but only our Quorum members, the princesses, Lieutenant Starbuck, and Captain Apollo may accompany us from the landing bay, unarmed of course. The rest of your warriors are to remain here." The older man told them as he stroked his beard absently.

"What is the situation, Yehudi?" Ama asked as she stepped down from the transport.

"The masses have been quelled through the issuance of the Act. They now await the meeting of the Empyrean Quorum." His eyes sought out his princesses and Starbuck with interest. He had never met Lia or Luana, but he had had the occasion to have a drink with the Lieutenant in the Tankard a time or two. It had been a pleasant diversion. "I believe Sires Regus and Albus desire that we complete the Test to satisfy our people's concerns regarding Lieutenant Starbuck . . . if it's really necessary."

"I suspected as much." Ama nodded. "And of course it's necessary."

"Wait a centon," Apollo interrupted. "The riot is over?"

"No, not over." Yehudi denied calmly. "Rather suspended."

"Say again?" Starbuck interjected as he joined them. "How do you _suspend_ a riot, Yehudi?"

"We are reasonable people, Lieutenant," he explained. "We are all aware of the issues, and know if we proceed logically that by the end of the conflict we will have a resolution."

Starbuck stared at the man in utter disbelief, every bit of incredulity and bewilderment plainly illustrated upon his face. Boomer's hand whacked him hard in the shoulder, shaking him from his contemplations. "I . . . don't think you people quite understand this whole _riot _concept."

"On the contrary, Lieutenant. I believe it is proceeding entirely to our satisfaction thus far." Yehudi disagreed.

"Leave your weapons and follow me, warrior." Kella turned to leave, brooking no argument.

"I don't believe this." Starbuck muttered to Boomer as he passed over his laser. The inclusion of the Empyrean Guardswoman made it disturbingly similar to his visit to the Empyrean caves.

"What's this test they're talking about?" Boomer asked.

"Danged if I know. I just hope it's not written. I didn't have time to study for it." Starbuck smiled weakly, fighting back his growing apprehension as Kella turned to glare at him.

"Well, good luck. I just hope they return you in the same condition in which you left." Boomer smiled.

"How do you mean?" Starbuck asked, as Roldan purposely took his arm, Kella still glowering from the entryway.

"Single." Boomer replied, shaking his head at the look of dismay that crossed the blond lieutenant's face, as the Empyrean tugged him purposely towards the corridor.


	24. Chapter 24

The group was strangely quiet as they made their way through the abandoned corridors of the _Malocchio_ Freighter. It was a little unnerving, passing through the largest passenger ship in the Fleet, and not coming across a single soul.

"Where are we headed?" Apollo asked.

"Ama's chambers." Lady Aurelia replied. "The other Quorum members await us there."

"Regus, Albus and Rogane are all safe?" The captain verified.

"Certainly. While Regus' statement on the IFB was considered an incitement to the masses, our people prefer to decide things in a dignified manner, following tradition." Siress Ama returned haughtily.

"Oh? So, rioting is a tradition?" Starbuck asked sardonically. "No wonder it's over already." He mused aloud, Luana smiling at his farfetched interpretation.

"I'll have you know, this is the first such rumpus in five centi-yahrens." Siress Ama defended her people as they reached the Imperial Necromancer's chambers.

"Really?" Starbuck asked, looking searchingly at Lia and Luana. He had learned that the two branches of Empyreans tended to do things a bit differently. Lia and Luana's line were a bit less priggish and pompous . . . oh, and straight-laced and narrow-minded . . . and self-important and stodgy . . . in his nonjudgmental opinion.

The young women grinned in return. They knew what he was thinking. And while they wouldn't say it aloud—or at least Lia wouldn't—they tended to agree with him. It was part of the reason they had joined the Colonial Service, distancing themselves from the Empyrean nonsense they had recognized as being even more pronounced in their Sagittarian brethren.

Ama waved them through the door, and true to the Siress' word, Sire Regus, Albus and Rogane sat waiting at a large table. Standing just beyond the table were three other civilians, looking nervous and out of their element as they hovered behind the members of the Great Houses.

Sire Albus rose reluctantly to his feet at their entrance. He nodded, dispelling with the usual grandiose greetings. "Is it true? Are they genuinely betrothed?"

All eyes turned to Starbuck and Luana. The lieutenant turned towards the young woman who was biting her lip nervously. Lu looked at him anxiously. This was it. He could feel the tension in the air, still not really understanding why this was so important to them. He looked back towards Albus. Regus and Rogane were on their feet now as well. They regarded the warrior disdainfully as they awaited an answer. On his other side, Apollo, Ama, Siress Ama, and Lady Aurelia contemplated him like an unpredictable, wild animal, as they seemed to hold a collective breath.

Oh, it wasn't a great reason, but somehow annoying the Hades out of the elite and pretentious men staring contemptuously at him from behind the meeting table made the decision for him. That and the uncertainty on Lu's beautiful features.

Starbuck reached for Luana's hand, lifting it to his lips and kissing it tenderly. He smiled at the sudden light in her eyes. Her lips quirked as if they were sharing a private joke, and he took her other hand squeezing it gently as they faced one another. They gazed into each other's eyes, sharing a sudden intimacy that neither of them could explain. It just felt right. It seemed a shame to break the spell.

"Was there ever any doubt?" Starbuck murmured, just loud enough for them all to hear.

"Never." Ama replied, gazing victoriously at the aristocrats.

Albus raised an eyebrow. "We still require the test. If Lieutenant Starbuck is truly throwing triad games, and attacking civilians without provocation, then he is not a suitable _innamorato_ for our Empyrean princess."

"That's a load of felgercarb, and you know it, Albus." Luana shot at him, her body once again tense and battle ready.

"Luana, that is inappropriate language and I will not tolerate it." Ama warned her, though amusement was clearly etched upon her features. "But Albus, I believe I already notified you that the charges against Lieutenant Starbuck were dropped when the young woman who was attacked made her statement verifying the actual events."

"Yes. My former charwoman, Oriana." Regus snapped. "A curious coincidence."

"Curious." Ama smiled her agreement. "However, if you insist upon a test, I will agree to it for the benefit of our people. Then they will know beyond doubt that Lieutenant Starbuck is truly a man of honour, contrary to recent slanderous fabrications."

The men bristled under her penetrating stare, though they merely sat down again, following their protocol and propriety . . . at least on the surface.

"Please everyone, take your places, while we prepare the Fires of Truth." Ama directed them, Siress Ama coming to her assistance.

"Tell me again why I'm doing this." Starbuck nudged his Captain with an elbow as they sat side by side.

"Uh . . ." Apollo thought about it, as he gazed in bemusement at the bed of embers and coals that glowed red and emitted enough heat to warm the chambers of the Imperial Necromancer . . . and then some. Starbuck was supposed to stand in the middle of it, barefoot, answering questions, while holding a crystalline orb. As Starbuck had insisted, there _had_ to be a catch. He just wasn't sure what it was yet. Lia had seemed so calm and utterly encouraging, that it couldn't just be what it appeared to be. He hoped. "Commander's orders?"

Starbuck's answering glare told Apollo how unimpressed he was with the response. Undoubtedly, the captain was supposed to say something more inspiring to the lieutenant.

"You'll be fine." Lia reassured Starbuck. "If you tell the truth, the Orb will protect you."

Kella loomed behind him, supervising his every move, as he pulled his boots and socks off as ordered. "Uh . . . this _truth_ . . . is that the complete truth . . . or variations on it?" Starbuck asked. His initial answer was a rib block from his captain.

"It's a legitimate question." Starbuck defended himself.

"But one that only _you_ would think of." Apollo sighed, wondering for perhaps the hundredth time how his friend managed to get himself in these unlikely predicaments.

"Starbuck, imagine yourself standing and being judged before your creator." Lia coached him. "He can see into your heart, and knows whether or not you speak the truth. There are no variations in his mind."

He looked at her skeptically and turned to her sister. "Lu?"

"No bluffing, Bucko. He can see right through you."

"Frack, that's what I was afraid of." He jerked as Luana grabbed his foot, kneeling down before him. "What are you _doing_?"

"It's a salve. It will repel the heat." Luana told him, firmly grasping the squirming foot and starting to rub the gel in.

"I thought I wasn't supposed to _feel_ the heat, if I was telling the truth." It suddenly occurred to him that Apollo used that line with Boxey. _Yeah, the kid never believed it either. _ He tried to control the irrepressible urge to yank his foot back as Luana's light touch caused a series of twitches and tingling that didn't seem to stop at his foot.

"Just increasing your odds, incase you try one of your variations of truth." Luana smiled up at him, before attacking the other foot with relish.

"Are you ready, Starbuck?" Ama asked from the opposite side of the Fires of Truth.

"No." Starbuck replied, even as Lia and Luana pulled him to his feet.

"Remember, you don't have to get specific. Empyreans speak in generalities." Lia whispered. "More than likely, it will just be 'yes' and 'no' questions anyhow."

"Great. Now I'm completely confused. _Tell the complete truth, but speak in generalities, especially while using 'yes' or 'no'_." He moved forward with a push from Kella. "Yeah, yeah, I know, Kella. By the way, I could very well be your superior officer soon. I'm going to remember this."

Kella smiled faintly, honoured that he was aware of her application to the service. "Courage, warrior. Courage. I know you have it. Why is it buried so far within you now?"

Starbuck paused in astonishment at her encouraging . . . though somewhat insulting words. "Just keeping it safe so it'll be there when I need it."

"You need it now. Be still. You move about like a litter of feral daggits at play. Gaze upon the Imperial Necromancer, then you will understand that it is but a small thing which we ask of you." Kella returned.

The room fell under a hush as Ama, also barefoot, approached the bed of glowing embers. Cupped carefully within her hands was a translucent orb, which emitted a bluish glow. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, her features relaxing until an almost angelic quality settled upon them. For several moments she stood, and with each passing micron the depth and intensity of the orb's light grew. Ama opened her eyes and strode forward slowly, crossing the few metrons over the Fires of Truth until she stood before Starbuck.

He stared at her in a horrified fascination, realizing they were actually serious about all this. He glanced down at her feet, which appeared unharmed, and he could imagine his own being consumed in flames very shortly. His stomach lurched at the very thought of stepping onto the burning hot bed of coals.

"Breathe, Starbuck." Ama reminded him.

The lieutenant let out the ragged breath he had been holding. He felt a reassuring hand on his shoulder and looked back to see Kella nodding at him. _Courage, be damned. _"I don't feel so hot," he murmured back to the necromancer, suddenly lightheaded.

"Let's hope it stays that way." She whispered back to him with a rueful grin.

He grimaced at her wit. "Couldn't you just get three personal references to attest to my good character?"

"Unfortunately, the Fires of Truth are a more convincing testament, at least in Empyrean circles." Ama replied.

"Shame." Starbuck rasped, then he cleared his dry throat. He steeled his resolve, feeling Kella squeeze his shoulder once again, lending him her strength. "What now?"

"Listen." She told him and then looked over at the others. "Our people have demanded that the Fires of Truth be the judge of our savior's character, deeming him worthy . . . or not, for betrothal to our own Princess Luana. Let us proceed."

Starbuck ran his fingers back through his hair as further talk of their betrothal caused a wave of uneasiness to run through him. "Uh, about that . . . " The ruse had seemed so inconsequential, as he had stood before Luana sharing in their deception, but now that he was standing before a probable source of great pain as he was potentially asked about his real intentions regarding a future sealing . . .

"Not now." Ama hushed him. "Lieutenant Starbuck, your part in the test is simple. You are required to speak the truth. If you do so, you will remain unharmed. If not . . . " At that instant, Kella tossed a balled up piece of cloth onto the coals, which abruptly ignited and was incinerated within microns.

Starbuck gulped down the lump in his throat, looking over his shoulder for Luana. She nodded encouragingly, but at the same time, looked as nervous as he felt.

"Place your hands upon mine." Ama instructed him, calling his attention back to her.

Slowly, he raised his hands so they settled upon hers, her pale flesh cool and wrinkled with age. They were the hands of an old woman, which generally wasn't how he thought of her. He raised his eyes to hers, surprised to see her amused expression. He quirked an eyebrow in question.

"Do you think me old, Starbuck?"

"No." he answered without hesitation, surprised when the orb's intensity seemed to increase once again.

She nodded, satisfied with the result. "Walk with me. Do_ not _let go of my hands." Ama told him as she slowly backed up onto the Fires of Truth.

"Ama . . . " he sucked in a desperate breath wondering how he could get out of the situation as he looked back towards Apollo. He would even welcome a Cylon attack about now. Or an explosion . . . A fire would be okay . . . A flood—Hades, it would be perfect!

"Look at me." She ordered him, her voice clear and authoritative, as she paused mid-step. His hands began to slip from hers as he hung back. "_Look_ . . . _at_ . . ._ me_."

Starbuck stared into her familiar grey eyes, noticing immediately how they seemed to pick up the glow from the blue orb before her. He paused in his instinctive retreat.

"I am, Ama, daughter of Arion and Annica of the Empyrean Imperial House. I am the Empyrean Necromancer. I am grandmother, protector and guardian to Princess Lia and Princess Luana. And you are . . .?"

Her voice seemed to echo throughout the chamber, taking on that disembodied quality he had heard earlier in the day. He recognized her words. It was a part of her formal introduction to him in the caves on Empyrean. Of course, then she had followed it all up with a few tankards of ale and a feast. _Not_ the offer of going for a stroll on a bed of hot coals. "Starbuck. Just Starbuck." He told her, much as he had so long ago.

"The sum of a man is so much more than just his position, lineage or title. This you have taught me." Ama told him, and then she grinned in merriment at his astounded visage. How she loved to keep him on his toes! "But alas, I'm a creature of habit and terminally committed to grandiloquence . . .Lieutenant Starbuck of the Battlestar _Galactica_ and Savior of the Empyrean People." She smiled at his answering wince.

Well, the whole savior thing was a great tale to throw in your friends' faces as you sat around the card table having a few drinks, but he wasn't entirely comfortable or convinced of his lot in life, and Ama knew it. He could see it in the twinkling of her eyes, and the deepening of the lines of her face as her lips quirked. He knew she was having the time of her life . . . at his expense.

"Do you trust me?" Ama asked him.

Starbuck blew out a deep breath. "I . . . I'm not so sure." His gaze again swung to the Fires of Truth and then back to her as he shook his head. "You lost a few points today as far as trust is concerned."

She nodded her understanding. He had felt betrayal at her announcement of the engagement. She had expected that. "Do you think I'd harm you Starbuck? Physically harm you?"

"No . . . but . . . "

"All you have to do is tell the truth. Is that so difficult?"

"No." His voice was quiet. Reluctant. He suddenly felt like a small boy before an honoured matriarch. "I hate this necromancy felgercarb," he groused.

"I know, son." She smiled warmly at him. "Look into my eyes and take a deep breath."

He did, oddly compelled by her steady and searching gaze.

"Again." Ama directed him.

Again, he breathed deeply in, and this time when he expelled the air, it was if the worries of the world left with it. Empty accusations of throwing games and attacking civilians, false engagements, broken relationships—they all disappeared as though they had never existed.

"Come with me, Starbuck." Ama's voice was like a gentle caress washing over him, as delicate as a soft breeze cleansing his soul and freeing his mind from his troubles.

He felt a physical pull as she stepped backwards, which was impossible, since it was his hands resting on hers. Her energy was palpable, connecting them in a way he had never experienced before. Her eyes dragged him into their depths, and onward. He strangely felt apart from it all, as though it was simply him and Ama going for a walk through an enchanting sea of blue. It occurred to him to look back over his shoulder towards his friends, but they seemed so very far away all of a sudden. The mere idea of exerting the energy was exhausting.

"What the frack . . .?" It was disorienting, and his mind sought an explanation. He recalled Lia giving him a drink when they arrived, and wondered if that had something to do with it. It had to have affected him. It couldn't be . . .

"Shush." Ama whispered as she held his gaze. "Like wandering through the streams on Empyrean."

He could almost smell the earthy aroma of the forest. Could practically sense the dampness on his skin. His feet felt cool as he waded through the chilling depths, guided by the necromancer. He knew if he looked to the side he would see Lia and Luana flanking him, their slender forms dressed in the skins of their people . . . No, that wasn't right. He screwed up his face in consternation remembering vaguely that he was on the _Malocchio_ Freighter.

"Starbuck, tell me the truth. Have you ever thrown a triad game in exchange for a bribe?"

Ama's voice seemed to fill his consciousness, invade his physical being. It came from within, yet surrounded him completely. "No." His own voice seemed a mere sigh.

Her presence seemed to intensify, filling him body and soul. A pervading warmth sought to comfort him, even as his mind fought to climb out from under the unfamiliar and stifling sense of blanketing reassurance.

"Is Luana your _innamorata_?"

"Yes."

A trickle of sweat trailed down his temples, distracting him. He blinked and in an instant realized that his heart was hammering in his chest. A slight crack in the immuring haze beckoned to him. If he reached up just a little higher he could get there.

_Stay with me!_

The words echoed through his mind, suffusing the rest of his body until his skin felt as though it was too tight, encasing an unnatural presence, which he fought to dispel. It brought to mind a Gemonese sausage roasting over a fire, its casing about to split open as it expanded under the pressure . . .

"Look at me, Starbuck!"

Her voice was like a cracking whip; his eyes snapped open, again drawn to Ama's riveting stare. "Ama . . . " he rasped, as the walls that had protected and comforted him seemed to cave in from all directions, leaving him freefalling into the brilliant blue glow before him.


	25. Chapter 25

"Look at me, Starbuck!"

It was Luana's first clue that Ama was losing him. She had seen the test of the Fires of Truth several times in her lifetime, and had never felt the same apprehension that she did when the necromancer led the Colonial Warrior onto the burning embers. After all, Starbuck was not Empyrean, and the test relied heavily on Ama's ability to put her subject into a trance and maintain it.

Ama pressed her body against Starbuck's, the orb trapped between them, as she forced him to stumble backwards. She could sense Luana and Lia hovering anxiously only a metron away. Captain Apollo picked up on the sudden tension, joining them, his arms reaching instinctively for his friend.

"Not yet!" Lia hissed, grabbing Apollo's hand as she watched Ama maneuver Starbuck closer to them. It was as though they were mismatched lovers in a strange, ritualistic mating dance. "You'll break their connection if you touch him."

Ama's face was a mask of concentration as she tried to maintain their phrenic connection. She held Starbuck's gaze, her forehead against his, as she used all her powers to keep him safe. She could feel him battling her, like a wave of energy repelling her attempt to control his subconscious thought. "Now!" she gasped, as she sensed the relatively cool deck beneath her feet again.

Three sets of arms enveloped the lieutenant, pulling him to safety. They tumbled to the deck, so frenzied were they in their attempt to remove him from the searing heat of the Fires of Truth.

"The test was incomplete!" Sire Regus roared.

"Nay, it was done! You heard his declarations!" Siress Ama retorted.

"Then let us see his feet!" Sire Albus demanded.

"By all that's sacred, stand back and give him some air!" Kella demanded as they buzzed above the warrior. Starbuck appeared dazed and disoriented as he feebly attempted to extract himself from the tangle of limbs surrounding him.

"Easy, Starbuck." Apollo muttered from beneath the warrior, as his struggles intensified.

"Try to relax." Lia encouraged as she rolled off his legs.

"You're okay." Luana reassured him, putting herself nose to nose with him and stroking his face soothingly. "It's over."

A shuddering breath escaped him as he focused on Luana while the steady din of intruding voices drew his attention. His eyes darted away, taking in the collection of faces around him, everyone staring at him expectantly. A sharp movement beneath him impelled him to raise himself on one elbow and look behind him.

"Hi," Apollo smiled weakly at his bewildered friend. "Can you get off me?"

"Sure," he mumbled numbly, moving himself aside as Lia and Luana assisted him to a seated position. Starbuck sat, elbows upon knees, running his hands through his hair until they came to a stop mid-skull.

"Are you okay?" Apollo asked him uncertainly, gripping a shoulder and at the same time glaring accusingly at Ama. The Imperial Necromancer looked shaken and spent as she hovered over them, the orb still in her grasp.

Starbuck nodded hesitantly. It was all a blur that he couldn't make any sense of now. He looked up at Ama. "_Don't_ . . . do that again."

"Oh, I won't." Ama replied assuredly.

"What happened?" Apollo asked her.

"I dropped him." She replied evasively.

"_Excuse me_?" Apollo asked again, a little more insistently this time.

"He's . . . resistant to my talents." Ama admitted.

"Never mind that now, look at his feet." Siress Ama interrupted.

The elegant Siress was kneeling at the warrior's feet, an awed expression on her features. The others gathered round.

"Let us see your feet, Lieutenant." Yehudi kneeled on his other side, his hand palm up and awaiting the warrior's action.

Starbuck lifted his foot, morbidly curious to see what damage was done. The appendage was almost as numb as his mind at this point, and he really didn't know what to expect.

"He is unmarked." Yehudi smiled as he lifted the ankle upwards for all to see. "He spoke the truth." The Empyreans began to speak animatedly, Regus, Albus and Rogane arguing vehemently within the group. Even Lia and Luana joined the fray.

It was like watching a game of Net Ball, as the ball volleyed back and forth between two teams. Starbuck shook his head mutely, jerking his leg back from Yehudi's grip, and shakily pulling his socks and boots back on. Still the debate continued. Unfortunately, he was having difficulty following much of it. He felt as though he was apart from them all, wrapped in a thick fog that he couldn't penetrate. He looked blearily up at Apollo who seemed to be following the discussion intently.

Apollo suddenly became aware of his still seated friend, and held a hand down to him, pulling him easily to his feet. The captain steadied the dazed man as he weaved for a moment. It was when the two stood there side by side that someone took notice of them again.

"This is inappropriate. They should not be present here and now." Sire Regus announced disdainfully.

Aurelia nodded. "Captain Apollo, our discussion should take place behind closed doors so we can reach a decision that our people will honour. It is our way." She smiled apologetically.

"Is the insurrection over?" Apollo asked, still a little bit lost within the proceedings.

"Of course." Siress Ama answered indignantly. "We will convene with the additional representatives of our people." She nodded towards the other civilians. "We will announce our determination when the meeting is concluded."

"In that case, I'll have our remaining shuttles land . . . to maintain the order while you reach a decision. I hope you realize that you're not the only authoritative body involved here. Commander Adama and the Council will need to be a part of any final decisions." The captain informed them, noting a few eyebrows raised in displeasure. So far, the Empyrean Quorum had been permitted to play a role in their governing, which, while still recognized by the Council, had been largely ceremonial to the Colonial point of view. It had been yet another attempt to cement the ties of unity between the Empyrean people and the Fleet. He put a hand on the lieutenant's shoulder guiding him towards the doorway. "Come on, Starbuck. Let's leave these good people to their deliberations."

"Starbuck! Wait!" Luana called, rushing to his side. She took his hands, studying him intently. "Are you all right? You seem a little discombobulated."

Starbuck nodded briefly. "What the frack _was_ that, Lu?"

"She hypnotized you. Or at least tried to. Do you remember what you said?"

"I . . . " Fleeting mages, an array of feelings, and a sense of overwhelming bewilderment flooded his mind. Strangely, Luana seemed to glow with happiness as she watched him with concern . . . which was only more confusing, not to mention disturbing. "Uh, I think so. Maybe. What _did_ I say?"

She grinned in reply, watching as Apollo took a few hasty steps towards the corridor. "Never mind. We'll talk about it later." She looked over her shoulder to watch the others taking their places at the meeting table. _"Innamorato,"_ she whispered huskily, before kissing him tenderly. "I'll see you soon."

"Uh . . . sure." He replied uncertainly as he watched her go. She looked far too happy for someone about to engage in a diplomatic meeting. And why was she involved anyway? Hades, she had abdicated. His brain felt like it was the playing ground for a pinball tournament as he tried to sort out his thoughts.

"Starbuck, let's go!" Apollo called him.

He shook his head in puzzlement once again before turning to join his captain. Apollo clapped him on the shoulder and grinned kind of . . . stupidly at him. It was almost like they were lost in some alternate universe all of a sudden. "What?" he asked tentatively.

"Congrats, buddy." Apollo beamed, before clapping him again on the shoulder and heading down the corridor.

Oh, he knew he should ask, but he'd rather just find out in his own time. Or not at all. That would be okay. After all, whatever it was he said, he was under the influence of . . . Ama. That had to count for something. He ran his fingers back through his hair, pushing it back out of his eyes, before following along.

They immediately headed back to the landing bay, Apollo activating his personal communicator as they walked down corridors as quiet and deserted as the centar before. "Captain Apollo here. Boomer, it seems that the rioters have dispelled for the moment . . . not that we've actually seen any sign of them." He paused looking aside at Starbuck, who seemed lost in his own thoughts. "Have the other shuttles land and the warriors and security officers aboard prepare to take up positions to maintain the order through our presence."

"Yes, Sir." Boomer replied, over the comm.

"Starbuck, since when do average Empyreans sit on a Quorum?" Apollo asked, trying to get Starbuck back in the here and now. He was a thousand parsecs away.

"You're asking me?" he snorted in amusement, as he tried to drag his mind above the temporary fog that had settled on it. He shrugged as he considered it. "When the people rescind the system of government?"

"Wait a centon." Apollo stopped him mid-stride. "Are you sure about that?"

"Not entirely. Sorry buddy, I feel like I just woke up with a hangover after the party of the millennium." He took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts. "I just recall Lia mentioning something about it at some point . . . But something big has happened. Other than heating up my feet to verify I'm _not_ some kind of athletic scam artist, they really didn't seem too intent on anything relating to an Empyrean betrothal. I don't know about you, but I kind of got the idea that that was part and parcel of why_ I _was dragged over here. Not that I'm complaining, you understand." He smiled weakly.

Apollo nodded, aware that his friend's recall was a bit hazy. Well, confessions of that nature were best left to Luana to discuss with him. "Something happened when that riot occurred. Have you ever seen an insurgence back under control so quickly? Without military _or _Security assistance? It's almost like they already had some kind of policy in place for this."

"I wouldn't be surprised. They pride themselves on rigid control and maintaining decorum along with tradition. Oh, and carefully keeping all afore mentioned protocol to themselves." He suggested ruefully, rubbing his face wearily.

"Are you okay? You don't look so well." Apollo asked, noting the pale complexion on his friend. God only knew what kind of ill affects could result from the apparent hypnosis or trance-like state Starbuck had experienced.

"Nothing a few Empyrean Ales wouldn't cure." Starbuck replied, turning his smile up a notch as he saw the sign for the Tankard up ahead of them.

"Not on duty, buddy." Apollo reminded him, watching the lieutenant's smile slip exponentially. He studied him again in concern. "Hey, do you need to sit the rest of this out?"

"What?" His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "No! I just . . . " He shrugged, not really sure how to describe it. He felt like someone had sucked him out of his body through his nose and then stuffed him back inside through his . . . He winced at the very thought of it. "I'll be fine."

"Okay, if you're sure. Then let's go to the bridge and find out what we can from Captain Valeray. At least he can tell us a bit about the riot. So far, we're still in the dark."


	26. Chapter 26

Captain Valeray had been at the helm of the _Malocchio_ for over twenty yahrens. His blue eyes were still sharp and piercing, but his sandy brown hair was beginning to evince the passage of time, with streaks of grey starting at his temples and weaving their way sporadically through his closely cropped hair. He held himself militarily erect, though he had been a civilian his entire career. His position was a matter of pride, and he had always felt that the way a man presented himself should reflect his status.

His bridge was impeccable, not an item out of place, as Captain Apollo and Lieutenant Starbuck entered. It was difficult to believe that it had been one of the sites of an insurrection and subsequent take over.

Valeray nodded a greeting to the Colonial Warriors. He had been briefed by the Quorum only moments ago and warned to expect them. He dusted off an obtrusive fleck from his uniform. "Gentlemen."

"Captain." Apollo nodded in return. His eyes ran over the bridge. "Things appear to be back in order here."

"Yes, Captain Apollo. I run a tight ship."

"So we've heard . . ." Starbuck muttered recalling Siress Ama's accusations regarding the rising ale consumption.

Apollo turned a jaundiced eye towards his subordinate. Starbuck squirmed somewhat apologetically and then shrugged nonchalantly. The captain sighed and turned back to Valeray. "Captain, it was my understanding that the bridge was taken, yet, as I look around, I don't see any signs of damage or any indication of a forced entry."

"No." Valeray nodded curtly, as if the very thought was abhorrent. "That would be because I opened the hatch and let them in."

"Perhaps you could explain why." Apollo pressed.

"Well, when I was unable to reach any Quorum members, I took the only option left to me, I called into effect the Defense of the Empire Act."

"Which is?"

Valeray's eyebrows shot into his hairline as he regarded the young captain. "You do not know?" he asked incredulously.

Something about the man's tone made Apollo feel entirely inadequate. "No. Please enlighten me."

"Hmm. Well, I suppose it is somewhat like declaring martial law, only we obviously do not have our own military to enforce it." He paused to gather his thoughts. "It is a crisis management measure. Our citizens know that once the Defense of the Empire Act has been executed, that they are to return peaceably to their quarters until the newly formed Quorum can be convened."

"And who ensures that they do so?" Apollo enquired.

"Anyone who does not will lose their title and standing in Empyrean society."

Starbuck smiled slightly. "Well, that would do it." The Sagittarian Empyreans valued social standing above all else. "What about this newly formed Quorum? How does that work?"

"We have a list of names of qualified people for just such an occasion. Six are randomly chosen to join the existing Quorum to ensure that the immediate concerns of our people are addressed. It effectively dissolves the Quorum as it stands until such time arrives that the members reach a majority decision regarding our future."

"It sounds more like you're declaring a lack of faith in your Quorum." Apollo suggested.

"That is true, Captain. Perhaps it is a more accurate analogy after all."

"What's the role of the princesses when your Defense . . . Act is called?" Starbuck asked, wondering why Lia and Luana had joined the fray.

"They will once again be asked to either take up their rightful role as Imperial leaders, or to abdicate as they had previously decided."

"What's the relevance?" Starbuck asked.

"I am sure you realize the importance of once again having an Emperor to lead our people, Lieutenant. You, of all the Colonials, should understand."

"With the survival of our fleet, and the search for Earth as our main priorities, our knowledge of our Empyrean brethren is perhaps insufficient for us to comprehend all the intricacies of the moment." Apollo ventured.

Valeray smiled. "Nicely said, Captain. You have some of your father's diplomatic skills. However, as you probably know, it all may be for naught."

"Meaning?" Starbuck asked.

"Well, as things stand, our Quorum is really a mere symbol of our once glorious past. In reality, they simply decide things which your Council of Twelve has no interest in, or does not understand." Captain Valeray informed them frankly.

"With upcoming elections for the Council of Twelve, that will change." Apollo returned. "Your people are not the only ones who feel their representation is inadequate."

"Yeah, after all, the original Council of Twelve worked at a more planetary level. In addition, there were national and civic levels of bureaucracy. The council have proposed that the time has come to expand our bureaucracy to a more local level." Starbuck elucidated.

"It is interesting that the proposal was raised in conjunction with the announcement of elections. It will be interesting to see what other issues arise, as candidates begin to campaign." Valeray nodded. "Perhaps you are right to presume that this is not merely an Empyrean issue."

"Our similarities as Humans can usually overcome any cultural differences." Apollo suggested.

"Especially when we remember that we have a common enemy in the Cylons." Starbuck noted.

"Spoken as a true warrior, Lieutenant."

"It's what I do." Starbuck shrugged. "Frankly Valeray, it won't matter how many people are on your council or what bureaucratic powers they have if enough Cylon base ships catch up to us before we reach Earth."

"We haven't seen Cylons for some time. Why is it a warrior thinks we must always function as though we are still fleeing from them?"

"Hey Pal, if I had my way, the Council would have a lot less say in what happens from a military perspective around these parts." Starbuck returned. "We're playing the odds, Valeray. When an alien race spends the better part of a yahren pursuing us with the objective of total elimination, I don't want to take any chances on the unlikely possibility that they've just disappeared. I don't buy that. Besides, peacetime is when we should focus on sorting out separate levels of government, not while every man, woman and child in the fleet is still in jeopardy."

"No Cylons for five sectars, Lieutenant." Valeray pointed out. "When do you decide that it is safe for the citizens of our fleet to start living like human beings again? Or as close as we can get to it. I think perhaps you underestimate the importance of a grassroots level of bureaucracy in our overall picture. Cede some important decisions to our people, and the long journey to Earth will be more tolerable knowing we have _some_ say in our futures."

"Oh, I understand it. I'm even for it; I just don't think the timing is right. I think it's a ploy by some of the Council members to buy votes. Yeah, for the civil decisions, it would be good for people to have some input, but when it comes to the overall safety of the fleet . . . Lords, I can see the Council of Twelve trying to take more responsibility for important decisions that could affect lives if some of their lesser duties are passed on to local bureauticians. I guess I just have a lot more faith in Commander Adama's leadership than the Council's, especially while we're running from what's behind us, and don't really know what's ahead of us." Starbuck conceded.

"With apologies to the captain, Commander Adama will not be around forever. We need men who are able to fill his shoes, both as a bureautician and military leader. This is a good beginning to groom the bureauticians of our future. It is time for younger men . . . and even women, to learn to take the reins of leadership."

"Did you need to have a riot to get your point across?" Starbuck asked.

"They needed the riot to enact the Defense of the Empire Act." Apollo interjected. "Isn't that right, Valeray?"

Valeray shrugged noncommittally. "It is only enacted before great civil disobedience or dire emergencies. The last instance was half a millennium ago."

"Five centi-yahrens since last enacted? Sounds like your people need to get good and riled up about things before they're inclined towards civil disobedience." Starbuck commented.

"I'm certain the prison-like existence that they endure lends to the volatile environment." Captain Valeray returned.

"Not to mention Regus' sudden proposal for distinct society status as well as all those stories about me." Starbuck added grudgingly.

"What are you suggesting?" Captain Valeray asked curiously.

"That this whole thing was a ruse by your Quorum—or at least half of it—to force a change in the governing body." Starbuck growled. He wasn't sure how much was a set up, and how much coincidence, but regardless, they were using him. Frankly, he had a problem with that.

"Hey buddy, you're jumping to conclusions." Apollo stopped him, but he couldn't help but notice the brief glance of concern that crossed Captain Valeray's features, before he quickly contained his emotions. He put a restraining hand on Starbuck's shoulder as resentment and aggression oozed from the lieutenant's pores. "C'mon, Starbuck. Let's check in with Boomer. Thanks for your help, Captain. It's been very informative."


	27. Chapter 27

He'd been right all along. It had begun with just a niggling idea that Ama was somehow behind the cascading series of events that had propelled him through the wringer of character disparagement, and had turned his life upside down in the space of twenty-four centars. Apollo had pointed out how unlikely it all was then, much as he was doing now.

"Look, I know you're going through a lot right now, but this really isn't about you, Starbuck." Apollo pointed out.

"Right." Starbuck humoured him.

"C'mon, think about it. How likely is it that everything you've been through has to do with the Empyreans?" The Captain tried again.

"'Bout as likely as finding a putrid in your tent in the rainy season on Empyrean." Starbuck rebutted. "Not great odds, but still possible." He added, having experienced the aromatic encounter with the foul beast.

Apollo shook his head. The trance that Ama had put Starbuck into had clearly left him a bit addled and paranoid. While the man had a propensity for being a bit egocentric, it usually didn't cloud his judgment. "I agree with you that it looks like the riot was manipulated and then largely exaggerated to force the Defense of the Empire Act into effect. And the engagement you obviously had nothing to do with, but the triad accusations, the attack on Oriana . . . I don't see a connection. It just doesn't add up."

Starbuck's lips quirked. "That's because _you_ don't have a system."

"Starbuck . . ." Apollo growled in warning.

"I have a theory. Want to hear it?" Apollo gave him a skeptical look that leaned towards the negative. "I was hoping you would. I think Ama hatched this plot to unite the Empyreans again through an Imperial Wedding, trying to ease the bureaucratic climate. Regus tried to thwart her plan by discrediting me, and he convinced Sire Dracus to make those accusations about me throwing games. After all, with elections coming up, even Sire Dracus isn't beyond buying a few votes, especially when that whole sports betting thing has been a thorn in his side anyway."

"The obvious problem with that theory is that you were still with Cassiopeia while all this was being supposedly formulated. So it doesn't make much sense that Ama would be assuming you and Luana would get together. Unless you're trying to tell me that she had something to do with Luana and you getting together?"

Lords, he hadn't even considered that angle. _Could she . . . ? Nah._ "Forget it, buddy. I'll sort it out." Starbuck shrugged. "You better report to the Commander. They'll need to send a representative over to deal with the Empyrean Quorum. I assume that will be the lovely Siress Tinia." His eyes twinkled as he changed tact, diverting the captain's attention from himself. Apollo clearly thought he was a few Vipers short of a squadron.

"Well, since she's the official liaison to the Empyreans, I imagine you're right." Apollo replied, nodding at a couple warriors who were patrolling the corridor to maintain order. It was turning into a light duty, as Empyreans obediently remained in their quarters. "Why don't you go take a break. Get some nourishment."

It sounded like less of a suggestion, and more of an order, though the pat on the shoulder and the concerned demeanor eased the sting of the captain's words as they entered the landing bay. Maybe he was off base with the whole thing. After all, he was turning it into some kind of conspiracy theory that entirely revolved around him. He sighed as Boomer strolled towards him, a wry smile on his face.

"Still single?" Boomer asked.

"Yeah." Starbuck nodded.

"Just barely," Apollo smirked. "Have Luana's _innamorato_ check in with the med tech and get some nourishment. He's a bit out of sorts. I'm going to report to the Commander."

"_Innamorato_? Lords, you are betrothed, aren't you?" Boomer snorted in amusement, as the Captain headed for their shuttle. He steered his friend towards the transport that had been set up as a temporary Life Station, though until now, it hadn't been utilized.

"Why do you say that? It just means 'lover'." Boomer's immediate chuckle of amusement stopped him short. "Doesn't it?"

"Inamorato means lover. _Innamorato_, with an Empyrean inflection, actually means 'one's true love' or 'soul mate'." Boomer chuckled some more as Starbuck grimaced, closing his eyes, and shaking his head in disbelief.

Starbuck felt Boomer's hands propel him along by the shoulders. Hades, no wonder Luana had been looking at him _that_ way. Lords, what next?

"I guess we're going to miss the card game." Boomer muttered quietly.

"Frack, I forgot all about it." He sighed deeply. "Oh, well. Everything is set up, so at least a few of our friends will be playing pyramid tonight."

"True enough. I'd be a lot happier if it was me though." Boomer grinned ruefully. "Oh, and buddy, I should warn you . . . "

The few words caused a cold knot to form in the pit of his stomach as he headed up the ramp to the shuttle. "About . . .?"

"Cassiopeia is part of the medical team."

Starbuck came to an abrupt stop as he reached the entrance to the shuttle. It was already too late. Cassiopeia was regarding him coolly from where she sat organizing medical equipment. Her lips tightened marginally, but otherwise she remained professional as she stood up to receive him.

"Problem, Lieutenant?" She asked, her voice courteous.

"Uh . . ." He realized there was no correct course of action. If he hightailed it out of there, he would be a cad for not talking to her. If he stayed, she would let him have it with both barrels for his sudden and very public betrothal to Luana. Dr. Paye regarded him curiously, and with a somewhat sympathetic expression.

"The Captain ordered him to report here for an assessment. Seems he went through some kind of test and hasn't been the same since." Boomer smoothly inserted to break the sudden and undeniable silence.

"I see." Cassie murmured. "Sit down, Starbuck." She gestured towards the biostretcher and smiled as he took a seat somewhat reluctantly. "I think I can handle it, Dr. Paye."

"Oh?" The physician almost sounded a little disappointed. "All right. I'll go . . . check with the captain. Perhaps we can report back to the _Galactica_ if the situation is as stable as it seems." He quickly made his way past Boomer and out of the shuttle. Boomer hesitated in the entryway.

Cassie smiled at him, as she helped herself to a biomonitor. "You too, Boomer. I'll be fine."

"I'm sorry about this Cassiopeia. I know it's awkward for you." Boomer hovered, reluctant to leave as he looked between the two of them.

"It's part of the job." She returned with a small shrug. "It shouldn't take too long. At a glance, he looks all right to me."

Starbuck sighed feeling like somebody's mentally deranged second cousin once removed and twice bitten, as they talked about him and apologized for him . . . in front of him. He watched Boomer's departure and turned to the med tech who by now was running the biomonitor over him.

"I really am fine." He assured her.

"What should I be looking for?" Cassie asked, looking steadfastly at her monitor. She had heard that he had stopped by the _Galactica_'s Life Station on two separate occasions looking for her, wanting to talk to her. At the time though, she was too furious with him to care. Over the centars, she had had a little time to calm down and think.

"An apology, I expect." He returned, laying a hand over hers to stop her examination. "I'm sorry, Cass. Luana and I aren't really engaged. It's just some bureaucratic ploy by the Empyrean Quorum which was set up without either of us knowing about it."

Her eyes flickered over him briefly, before dropping to their hands. She pulled hers back. "I haven't noticed a public denial on either of your parts."

"I know." His jaw tightened. "I'm under orders to . . . keep my mouth shut."

"Then why are you telling me, against orders?" A smile tugged at her lips. Sometimes orders were merely a formality with him that were open to his own interpretation. It would invariably be what would hold him back professionally in the yahrens to come, she had no doubt. He wouldn't care either, preferring to steer his own ship, even if it was only a fighter.

"Because I didn't want you thinking it was the truth, when it isn't. And I don't think you're a likely security breech." His eyes held hers in a way that asked for reassurance, even as he told her he trusted her in the matter.

She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders, nodding for his benefit. "So what am I suppose to say when people ask me why you and Luana are suddenly engaged, Starbuck?" It hadn't happened yet, but the looks of pity and 'I told you so' were already adding up. She didn't appreciate either. She had even thought of transferring off the Battlestar, but had decided to wait it out. After all, she didn't want him to think he was the reason she was going. Running away wasn't her style. She raised her chin a notch as she awaited his answer to her impossible question.

"I don't know, Cass. Whatever you need to." He watched her golden tresses cover her face as she turned her head, hiding her thoughts from him. He raised a hand automatically to brush back her hair, but then halted his movement, knowing he no longer had that right.

She looked up slowly, a faint smile on her face. "Are you encouraging me to trash you?"

"Only if it helps." Starbuck shrugged. After all, she wouldn't be the first one. She was obviously thinking it over. He fidgeted where he sat, studying his hands.

"It just might at that." She agreed, enjoying his sudden discomfort. "I may even form a club."

_What?_ He lifted his eyes to hers abruptly, seeing the devilry on her features. "Very funny," he sniffed.

She grinned in reply. "Now, what was this test?"

He paused for a moment. "Oh, that. I had to walk barefoot across a bed of burning coals. The Fires of Truth."

She sniffed in amusement, clearly not believing him. "You do come up with them. So, I should check your feet?"

"No, my head. After all, shouldn't any guy who would do that, have his head examined?" He grinned at her smile. It didn't seem the least bit forced this time. They might be all right.

"I'll get the electrodes." Cassiopeia replied, enjoying the grin dropping from his features to be replaced with a look of horror. "We've had a few intermittent power surges, but the odds are favourable that you'll have few residual effects . . . especially if I shave your head first."


	28. Chapter 28

It had been centars since the new and enlarged Empyrean Quorum had disappeared into Ama's chambers to decide in which bureaucratic direction the people would be going. Shortly after Apollo had made his report to Commander Adama, Siress Tinia and Sire Dracus of the Council of Twelve had arrived to table an offer from the Council members.

Since then, the _Malocchio_ had remained a virtual ghost ship, with few occupants venturing out while the Defense of the Empire Act was still in place. The medical team and three shuttles had returned to the _Galactica_, the last remaining to transport a small group of warriors, security officers and bureauticians back to the Battlestar upon completion of the meeting.

"Are we there yet?" Boomer quipped upon his return from patrolling the quiet corridors, most civilians now abed. He watched Starbuck dexterously handle a deck of cards. His friend had survived his encounter with Cassiopeia intact, and had been cleared from a medical point of view.

"Pick a card." The lieutenant replied, as he fanned out the deck before his friend. If he didn't do something to keep busy, he was going to nod off.

"Don't do it, Boomer. You know it can only cost you in the end." Jolly warned him as he wandered over.

"What's the bet?" Boomer asked.

"I have early patrol." Starbuck replied.

"I have late patrol, and you're supposed to be playing triad then." Boomer informed him.

"So?" Starbuck grinned, trying not to think of the game ahead of him. "I thought you could do both of them."

"Don't think so." Boomer replied. "A double patrol? It would have to be more challenging then 'pick a card' for that."

"Yeah, what kind of idiots do you think you're dealing with here?" Jolly grinned.

"Good point. There _are_ several categories." Starbuck replied, looking around. "Where's Giles?"

They chuckled good naturedly as Giles appeared from behind the shuttle. "Someone call?"

"Giles, pick a card." Starbuck held out his deck again.

"Frack, Starbuck, a twelve-yahren-old could do that trick." Giles shook his head in disgust.

"All right then." He held out the cards to Giles. "Go find one."

"Yeah, good luck at this centar." Giles returned, waving him off.

"Ah, come on. I'm disappointed in you guys. No takers?" Starbuck razzed them.

"Can't you just do the trick without a bet involved?" Jolly pulled up a crate, curious to see it.

"What am I? Cheap entertainment?" Starbuck snorted, once again shuffling the cards.

"Well, now that you mention it . . ." Boomer chuckled.

"How about a hand then, boys?" Starbuck suggested, beginning to deal the cards out on the crate of Empyrean Ale he was sitting in front of, before anyone bothered answering.

"If the Skipper catches us playing on duty, he'll have our heads." Jolly mentioned, even as he raked in his cards, looking them over.

"Not much happening around here. Besides, we'll be above reproach as long as there's no money on the table." Starbuck returned.

"Hades, there's not even a table." Boomer added, pulling up a discarded box to sit on.

"However, there could be some cubits under the table," Starbuck suggested slyly.

"He's determined to play tonight." Giles said with a laugh. "How did you survive to this point in your career with your work ethic?"

"Luck." Starbuck shrugged. "And good friends."

"Awww." Giles made a point of grinning grotesquely.

"Gawrsh." Jolly smiled just as prettily.

"Shucks, Bucko." Boomer drawled.

"Too bad none of them are here with me now." Starbuck shrugged nonchalantly, only to suddenly find himself dodging his squadron mate's flying cards. He laughed, and then paused, picking up the familiar clap of boots crossing the deck. He quickly put a card to his forehead and closed his eyes in apparent concentration. "Just shy of two metrons tall with brown hair, green eyes and a captain's insignia, I'd say."

"I might be impressed if he wasn't the only other person authorized to be down here." Boomer chuckled.

"Put the cards away, Starbuck." Giles whispered warningly, as the lieutenant gathered them and slipped them into an inside pocket just as Apollo came into view.

"Listen up. Our passengers will be boarding in a few centons. We'll be transporting Siress Tinia and Sire Dracus back to the _Galactica_ for a further meeting of the Council." Apollo told them.

"What happened?" Starbuck asked, rising to his feet.

"I don't know yet. Apparently, they've struck a deal. It just has to be formerly voted in through a Council majority. We'll probably have to wait until tomorrow until we find out, especially if you and I have early patrol in the morning, Starbuck."

"Hmm." Starbuck gazed pointedly at his squadron mates. "What about Luana and Lia? Did they abdicate again?"

"I don't know that either." Apollo shrugged.

"They're not keeping that under wraps too, are they?" Starbuck watched the captain shrug wearily again. It had been a long day.

"I doubt it. After all, I'll need to know for the roster if we're losing our pilots." Apollo rubbed his tired eyes.

"They wouldn't . . ." Starbuck began, less comfortable than he cared to admit with the idea of Luana returning to civilian life. He stopped mid-sentence as two Colonial Security Officers led Tinia, Dracus, Luana and Lia towards the shuttle. Oh, he could just imagine sitting in the back of the shuttle with _Sire Holier-Than-Thou_ for the entire trip back to the Battlestar. Hades, nobody had that much self-control. "Hey Jolly, mind if I pilot?"

"No. Who did you have in mind to co-pilot? Dracus?" Jolly returned sardonically.

"Luana?" Starbuck looked to the captain. He'd rather try and get the whole story out of her. After all, he really didn't want to wait until after patrol . . . that certainly hadn't gone well for him the last time.

"Ah, isn't he romantic?" Giles gushed. "It'll be almost like a date."

"Sure, Starbuck. Just nice and steady . . . and don't bounce the landing." Apollo told him half-heartedly.

"Who? Me?" Starbuck replied innocently. "Never occurred to me."

"I'll bet." Apollo replied lightly, knowing full well that Starbuck would tow the line, but playing the required part anyway. They were all weary from the sedentary duty, and they needed the repartee to keep them motivated. Besides, he knew his men would be disgruntled to have missed out on the _clandestine_ card game that Starbuck had been so quietly putting together. Lords, missing his own game of the sectar--his friend's luck had definitely bottomed out.

Everyone involved in the long meeting looked tired as they approached the remaining men. The rest of the warriors seemed to rise as a group, eager to return to their base ship.

"Ensign Luana, you're with me on the flight deck." Starbuck told her briskly, heading up the ramp.

"Yes, Sir." She replied, right on his heels.

Tinia paused, watching their retreat. "They could be a little warmer towards one another, Captain." She said aside to Apollo. "After all, they're supposed to be betrothed."

"They _are_ on duty, Siress," Apollo replied. "Unless something has changed with Ensign Luana's designation?"

"But it seems so impersonal. Perhaps while they're in public, they could be just a little more . . ."

Lu didn't wait to hear the captain's reply as she disappeared into the shuttle. She turned the corner to collide fully with Starbuck, as he pulled her into his arms.

"Tell me you abdicated again."

She smiled, wrapping her arms around him and nuzzling her face into his neck. "You feel good." She whispered.

"Lu . . ." he pulled back looking into her eyes intently. "What happened?"

"I'm sworn to secrecy." She replied. "But, I think it will all work out."

"And?" He pressed her.

"I'm still with the Service." She thought she would melt at the smile that stretched across his face. "You can't say anything though."

"Not a word." Starbuck nodded, leading her by the hand to the flight deck before the others interrupted them. "What about Lia?"

"You're awful." She laughed, as he continued to grill her. "What do you think?"

"I wasn't sure. She has that responsibility gene in her. Just like Apollo. I was kind of worried she might get drawn back into Empyrean bureaucracy out of a sense of duty."

Luana nodded, as she began to join him in flight checks. "I know. She surprised me though. She really believes the right path for our people lies in leaving Imperial leadership behind them and proceeding on a more democratic path."

"And us?" He paused in his actions to wait for a reply.

"Which us? The betrothed us, or the _us_ us?"

"_Their_ us. _Our_ us will take care of . . . us self." He grinned, deciding that was probably the best way to handle it for now. One day at a time. No rushing into anything. Well, in an emotional sense anyhow.

"Later," she whispered as the others began to board.

"Figures." He muttered, finishing his checks and nodding at her as she contacted the _Malocchio_'s bridge for flight clearance.

"Starbuck, we're all set for take off back here." Apollo wandered forward.

"Just awaiting clearance." He adjusted his headset. "Guess they're busier than they let on." He nodded his head towards the empty landing bay.

"Will we be leaving anytime soon, Captain?" Sire Dracus called impatiently from the rear. "We do have an important meeting of the Council to attend."

Starbuck smiled deviously. "Tell him to hold on tight, I want to try something."

"Any centon now, Sire Dracus." Apollo spoke over his shoulder, and then added more quietly. "You can have your revenge on the courts tomorrow night."

"And here I thought we were playing Bojay and Barton, but if Dracus is subbing, well

. . ." An evil grin crossed his features. Oh, a rib block followed by a body check . . . ah, if only it wasn't just an errant fantasy brought on by a need to avenge his honour.

"We're cleared for take off." Luana interrupted.

"Then take us home . . . and don't over-rev the turbines, Starbuck." Apollo clapped him on the shoulder before heading aft.

"You heard the man," Starbuck started up the engines. He quickly checked his chrono. 0030 centars. Lords, no wonder he was tired. The card game might still be going, but he had to be up for patrol in five centars. So much for a chance of pulling this mong heap of a day out of the flusher.

"Are you up for a little walk when we get back?" Luana asked him hesitantly. She smiled mischievously as she awaited his answer. Time to up the ante. "The equipment room in the fitness center should be free."

"A walk would be perfect." Good fortune had once again smiled upon him. Oh, she was fickle.


	29. Chapter 29

Two consecutive nights. Well, it wasn't the _Rising Star_ and it didn't have a view, but at least they could be together. Luana snuggled up to Starbuck. He reflexively pulled her closer, though he was in a deep sleep. Who would have thought that a small pile of mats and a scrounged blanket in the equipment room could feel like the Presidential Suite?

They had had a lot of catching up to do with the cascading series of events that had occurred since parting at the Life Station the night before. First she had told him that from the official point of view, they were still engaged. He was calmly accepting of the fact, almost as if he had expected it. She hadn't been prepared for that.

Of course, she had also added that the Empyrean engagement period was a yahren long, in order to adequately prepare for the monumental event. He had laughed, relief clearly evident.

"So we have a yahren to figure it all out?" He had reiterated. "Sagan, a lot can happen in a yahren, Lu."

"I know." She had stroked his jaw line, rough with a day's growth of beard, and gazed into those blue eyes that she adored. "One day at a time?"

He paused to consider her, loosening her hair from the tether that tied it back. "What planet are you from again, sweetheart?"

No, Starbuck hadn't seen that coming. The truth was that Luana had everything she wanted for now. _Him._ The newly formed Empyrean Quorum had even conceded to her demand that they stop referring to her as _Princess Luana_, and accept her for the Colonial Warrior she had become. In the interest of moving forward and not dwelling on the past, there would be no more formal discussion of _the Princess and the Savior_.

After all, it had not been that long ago that she thought she would live out her life as one of a community of Empyrean women on a planet with no men. She had no illusions of that changing until the day she and Lia had discovered a group of strangers had landed on their planet on a botany expedition. Tracking the small party, they had soon happened upon Starbuck skinny-dipping in a pond, washing off the muck and mire from a fall down a hillside in the sodden terrain.

Lia had been the first to recognize him as being their potential Savior. Luana had been too busy admiring hisattributes, to connect him in any way with the chosen one of the Great Kaula's Prophecy. Hades, Kaula himself could have been standing there shouting, "he's the savior!" in her ear, and it wouldn't have penetrated her intense study of the first male she had seen in yahrens.

She had never been one for adhering to tradition, simply because it was expected, and she realized now that that included the one called marriage. The more she thought about it, the more she realized, if Starbuck had this inexplicable fear of making that final commitment, well, then why push it? Perhaps that was why his other relationships had failed. At the end of the incredible journey of discovery called love, was this black hole of the unknown trying to lure him into its murky depths. Hades, no wonder he put up blockades and built fences until the women in his life came to the realization that he just wasn't going to take that extra step.

He stirred in his sleep, letting out a deep sigh. Luana smiled. She loved to watch him sleep. Loved to have the opportunity to memorize his features without him being aware of it. All the fine lines of concentration that had been there while he was talking about the mysterious Oriana and her connection with Borka and Kaden had disappeared, making him appear so much younger and carefree.

He hadn't had the time he had hoped for to get to the bottom of what Oriana was really up to. Other more pressing things had come up. Like their engagement, not to mention the _Malocchio_ Conflict, as the bureauticians were referring to it now. Perhaps it sounded more historically significant. If the people of the fleet only knew it was simply a clever ruse by Ama to implement the Defense of the Empire Act, and topple the impotent Quorum as it stood, with a vote of three opposing three. Of course, Ama wouldn't admit to that, but those who knew her recognized her careful contrivance of the events.

Starbuck had suspected Ama also knew who Oriana was, and what she was up to. Despite the numerous reasons to distrust the sanitation worker, he had felt that Oriana was telling him the truth, when she had promised she was on his side. However, Oriana certainly hadn't been willing to reveal anything. Upon reflection though, it had sounded like he had been too restrained with her, probably because she was a woman. There were some missing pieces to that particular puzzle, and he hadn't had the time to go looking for them. He had suggested, rather strenuously, that the first stop in finding the answers would lie with Ama.

Well, Luana knew he was probably right. The old crone could plot and scheme with the best of them. She had an advantage with her necromancy skills, after all. Some people talked of having a sixth sense, but Ama had that and something more. Her powers of percipience, observation, and deductive reasoning, put her ahead of the pack. For all her appearance to the contrary, with her wild hair, casual dress, and crass demeanor, she was very intelligent. In fact, it was simply part of her façade to make her opponents think she was less of a threat. By the time they figured it out, she had already eaten them alive.

However, knowing Ama all her life, and admittedly cutting the supposedly retired necromancer little slack, Luana also knew she wouldn't purposely hurt anyone she cared about. She had informally adopted Starbuck. Lu and Lia recognized all the signs. Not only did the old crone just genuinely enjoy his company, but she respected him and was grateful to him for his support and assistance in helping them adapt to life in the Fleet. Despite the many terrible events that had befallen him since becoming acquainted with the Empyreans, he kept coming back for more, almost as if Starbuck was daring the fates to try again.

As crazy as the past day had been for him, Ama still had his interests at heart. Luana just had a difficult time figuring out how at this point. So far the woman was appearing to be totally bureaucratically minded. Even selfish. However, that just wasn't her way. Oh, she might like you to think it was, but it couldn't be further from the truth.

Tomorrow Starbuck had another early patrol_. Strike that, Lu. In a centar he has patrol. _ She, on the other hand, had a day off. Well, she might not be Ama, but she was going to do her darnedest to find the missing link. After all, she had learned a few things along the way, most of them from her father and Ama, and a few of them from Starbuck.

Later that night was the big triad match with Bojay and Barton. She knew Starbuck was feeling nervous about it. Despite his consistency in practices, during his matches he was repeatedly caving to the pressure. Maybe it was too much pent up energy and frustration. _Hmm._

She propped herself up on an elbow, cradling her head in her hand and watching him for a few more microns. _Innamorata. _It didn't matter in which context he had meant it, or that he had been under a trance. It had filled her with such intense feelings that she had thought she would burst into tears. It was the first time she had realized that happiness and dismay could effect one so similarly. Her chest had ached with emotion as she watched him braving the Fires of Truth.

She leaned over, lightly kissing him from his jaw downward to his chin, nipping at it, as she ran her hands down his chest. His lips quirked in a smile, but his eyes remained closed, as if he was merely experiencing a pleasant dream. Her lips continued their journey, slowly and erotically exploring his body, as he had done with her only centars before. A feral grin spread across her face, as she heard his low moan and felt his body stir beneath her, awakening with desire. Desire for her.

"Come here . . ." his voice was but a sigh, as he reached for her, anxious to feel her body pressed against his.

"What's your hurry, flyboy?" She breathed, rejoicing in the sense of power as his body moved beneath her, responding to her.

"Well, then by all means, take your time." Starbuck encouraged her with a chuckle.

"Hmm." She again pressed her lips to his flesh. She would take all the time in the universe. Hopefully, her lifetime.


	30. Chapter 30

Apollo checked his chronometer again. 0559. He leaned against his Viper, eyes locked on the turbo lift, wondering if Starbuck would make it on time. If he had been a betting man, it would be too close to call. Then again, the lieutenant seemed to be regressing to behavior that was more reminiscent of earlier days.

He shook his head, wondering how long Starbuck and Luana would last. After all, that whole fraternization topic wouldn't really be an issue, if the romance burned out in a matter of sectons, as he was almost expecting. Hades, it sounded like most of the billet agreed with him, if the spread on their latest bet was any indication.

The lift came to life, this time Starbuck coming into sight. 0600 precisely. He should have guessed. Starbuck usually liked to live on the edge, and why should showing up on time for early patrol be any exception? The lieutenant likely thought he would have taken the time to do his pre-flight checks for him. Only this time, he hadn't.

Starbuck agilely leapt off the lift before it settled, striding towards the captain with a spring in his step. His hair was damp and one boot not quite done up, but it didn't seem to matter to him while he cheerfully greeted the crew as he made his way over.

"Mornin'." Starbuck grinned at the captain.

"Morning." Apollo replied, straightening from his pose.

"Uh, did you happen to . . .?" He motioned to his ship, hoping Apollo had started his checks. He had cut it a little close, squeezing in a turbo wash and a change of uniform after his dalliance with Lu.

"No." Apollo replied briskly.

"Oh. Any word on the meeting outcome from last night?" The lieutenant asked, starting to routinely look his ship over.

"No. No doubt they're all still sleeping." Apollo returned. "I'm surprised you didn't pry it all out of Luana."

"Well, she pointed out that it was all in the hands of the Council of Twelve, so the Lords of Kobol only know how they will twist it to suit their purpose." Starbuck shrugged, running a hand down the smooth line of his fighter.

"It didn't take her long to understand the intricacies of Fleet bureaucracy, did it?"

"No. She's a quick study." A sly smile crossed his features as he thought about his wakeup call.

"And your betrothal?" Apollo asked. He wondered how Starbuck would get himself out of that one.

"Still betrothed in the eyes of the Quorum."

"What about Luana's eyes?" The captain asked with some concern. Hades, she was so young, and a nice kid at that. He would hate to see her get hurt again. She had taken it hard when Starbuck had gone back to Cassiopeia after their tryst on Alrin.

"Wide open." The lieutenant returned after a micron.

"How's that?"

Starbuck looked back at his friend before returning to his checks. "She's not ready to get married either. We'll just take it as it comes and figure it out as we go along."

"Quite the plan." Apollo muttered after a moment.

Starbuck paused from what he was doing and turned towards the captain. "Do you have something to say to me? Or did something bite you on the astrum when you got up this morning and you're in the mood to share the afterburn?"

Apollo studied him for the moment, weighing the benefit of getting it off his chest with the reality of the zero impact it would have on Starbuck. The lieutenant truly didn't think there was anything wrong with what he was doing, because he'd been doing it all of his life. Only this time there was a naïve Empyrean girl involved. Well, the truth of the matter was that Luana was one of Apollo's pilots, and as such, his responsibility. Also, a haunting image of his sister lurked in the back of his mind. He should have said something then too, and didn't.

"Starbuck, she's been following you around like a baby daggit since she became a cadet, and you really believe that she's not interested in a long term commitment? I think you're just hearing what you want to hear, and you're not considering Luana's feelings."

For a moment, Starbuck simply stared at him, as if he was astounded that the words came out of his friend's mouth. He sniffed in incredulity as he recalled all that he done to help Luana and Lia make the tough transition from green cadets to ensigns. Hades, he _only_ had Luana's best interests at heart. They hadn't talked about long-term plans per se, but there was certainly an understanding that they were in a relationship and were going to make a go of it.

"I hope that's lack of sleep talking, because you're way out of line." Starbuck took a step closer until they were almost nose-to-nose. "I care about Luana, and amazingly enough, despite everything that happened since Alrin, she feels the same about me. She no more wants to rush into marriage than I do. She said so."

"Did it ever occur to you that she said it because she thought you wanted to hear it?" Apollo retorted, not ceding ground.

"Did it ever occur to _you_ that she just might mean it?" Starbuck fired back.

"You really believe that, don't you?" Apollo asked, his voice even. "Now the way I see it, she's been infatuated with you for a very long time, and now she's finally got her prize. The fleet's most notorious bachelor, Lieutenant Starbuck. So what's she going to do to keep you? Anything. She'll say what you want to hear, and she'll make you believe it, because she's learned a few of your tricks of persuasion along the way. But underneath that façade she's been carefully putting together while she's been studying with the Great Starbuck, there's still a naïve, inexperienced girl who is going to get her heart broken when you decide it's time to move on. You see, that's one area where you're always consistent, Starbuck."

It cut deep coming from Apollo, but his saving grace was the captain was wrong. Dead wrong. With Luana it was different. They had found this new and different level that they had connected on. Well, besides the sexual one. And he knew that Luana was being honest with him, just as he was with her. No misconceptions, no unrealistic expectations. Just take their own sweet time to make the big decisions and in the meantime be happy. What the frack was wrong with finding a little happiness?

"You've had your say, Apollo. I happen to think you're full of mong. You're also wrong. But then you'd never consider that, would you? Speaking of consistencies." Starbuck snapped back.

The tension hung heavily in the air between them, as they reflected on one another's words. Two men, both determined that they were right. Nothing really odd about that, except the fact that they were usually on the same side.

"Captain Apollo, Colonel Tigh is on the comm wondering what happened to the early patrol." A crewmember interjected with a glance at his chronometer. "What should I tell him, Sir?"

Apollo turned sharply. "Tell him we're on our way." He looked back at Starbuck. "Right?"

"Oh, yeah. Should be a blast." Starbuck replied with a roll of his eyes.

----------

"Excuse me? Are you Kaleo?"

The sanitation technician supervisor put down his mug of java to contemplate the young warrior before him. She smiled at him shyly as she pushed back stray locks of hair that had escaped their tether. The escaping tendrils framed her lovely face and her wide brown eyes looked curiously around the small space that was his office.

"Yes, I am. Can I help you Ensign . . .?" He looked at her searchingly. He knew that face.

"Luana." She smiled at him tentatively again. "I'm not sure if you can help me, but I'm trying to track down one of my old friends from the _Malocchio_. I know you don't know me from Sagan, but . . . " she shrugged helplessly.

"Actually, I know exactly who you are. News gets around." Kaleo replied with a grin. He had seen little else lately on the IFB than Princess Luana and Lieutenant Starbuck. In fact, it was getting a little stale, and was hardly what he would call newsworthy. Still, it was refreshing that the young woman wasn't self-centered after all the attention.

"Oh. I suppose." She mumbled, as she ducked her head in acute embarrassment.

"Who is it you're looking for, Ensign Luana?" Kaleo asked to put the young woman out of her misery.

"Oriana." Luana looked up hopefully.

"Of course." Kaleo nodded, aware that the woman was recently from the _Malocchio_. "She's off duty today." It was a real shame to see that smile slip away from those pretty features. "How about I get you the number for her quarters, and maybe you can hook up face to face?"

"Really?" Luana smiled radiantly at him. "That would be brilliant! Thank you so much."

"No problem." Kaleo replied, turning to check the personnel files.

Luana bit back the triumphant smile that threatened to spread across her face. She was off to a good start.


	31. Chapter 31

"In case you were wondering, we're checking out this quadrant for a reason." Apollo's voice penetrated the solitude.

The silence had stretched for some time. At first Starbuck was still seething at Apollo, and had restricted any Viper communications to strictly necessary ones. Then, as time wore on and tempers ebbed, he had just settled into enjoying the only quiet he had experienced in the last couple days.

"Really?" Starbuck replied. That perked his attention. "Why?"

"The _Galactica_'s scanners picked up some unusual energy wave readings." Apollo replied, glad to be getting back to business.

"Unusual how?"

"Unknown origin. Intermittent."

"Regular intermittency or irregular?" Starbuck asked.

"Irregular."

"Might be interesting."

"Might be." Apollo smiled at the lift in his friend's voice. Patrols of late had been _quiet_ to say the least. "We should be in range in about a centar."

"Sounds good. I could do with a change in the pace."

"Yeah, I hear you." Apollo sighed. "And Starbuck . . . "

"Yo?"

"About what I said . . . "

"Forget it. I already have." Starbuck assured him.

"Hmm." Apollo chuckled. "Glad to know I make such an impact."

"Yeah, well . . . " The truth was he had a thick skin, and he also knew that Apollo was only saying it out of concern for Luana. If he truly felt anything for Lu, then he shouldn't be damning anyone for that. "Never mind that now, what do you think it might be?"

"Well, I have a couple ideas . . . "

----------

Luana stood in front of Oriana's quarters, back straight and prepared to bluff her way through another encounter. After all, she was proud of her last performance. Somehow there was a connection between Oriana, Ama and the whole triad betting scenario, Lu just didn't know what it was yet. But she had an idea of how she might find out.

The door slid open, and a bleary-eyed Oriana peered out, her eyes widening when she saw who her visitor was. She made as if to step back inside, but Lu's foot was firmly inserted in the door's path as she leaned towards the older woman.

"Oriana, Ama sent me to help get to the bottom of this thing. Can we talk here?" Luana suggested, while peering beyond to the darkened quarters.

Oriana paused, assessing the young woman as she pushed her long, dark hair from her eyes. "Ama sent you?"

Luana nodded. "Who else?" she grinned. "Of course, I'd like to help for obvious reasons. I feel a bit useless sitting around waiting for you to do all the work."

Oriana nodded slowly. "Actually, I could use some help. We're running out of time. Did you have to come at so ungodly a centar though?"

"Well, the early avian gets the grub." Luana replied with a smile. She pulled the cup of java from behind her back. "How do you like it?"

"Thank God, a conformist." Oriana grinned, taking the cup and standing aside. "I never understood how java didn't catch on in Empyrean Society."

"Easy, we didn't grow the beans." Luana shrugged. Empyreans consumed what Empyreans made, simply put. She stepped into the tiny quarters. Two vacated bunks were neatly made, the occupants having clearly departed to start their own duty shifts.

"Good point. So how much did Ama tell you?"

Oh, Luana tried to control her features . . . tried to stop the eyes widening in panic . . . tried, but clearly didn't succeed.

"She didn't tell you anything, did she?" Oriana asked, skepticism stamped on her pale features.

Luana flushed with embarrassment. Starbuck had told her that every decent strategy had a fall back position, especially if you were going to get out alive. "She . . . didn't want me to get too involved." It was a sudden inspiration. She decided to go with it.

"No, of course not. That's why she asked me to handle it. You lack the experience, Luana." Oriana sat on her bunk, motioning towards the chair stored against the wall.

"She didn't tell me exactly what your forte was though." Luana shrugged nonchalantly as she sat down.

"Investigative Journalism." Oriana replied, waiting for the usual reaction.

Luana smiled, "Seriously? How does an Empyrean woman working as a charwoman in the House of Regus specialize in journaling anything, other than how many rolls of turbo wipes his High and Mighty uses on a sectarly basis?"

Oriana threw back her head and laughed in return. "I love it. I see what people like so much about you." She took a deep drink from her java pondering her thoughts before resuming. "I left my home and my people, and attended the Sagittarian University, Communications Department. I was in my final yahren when the Cylons broke through our defense systems. Suffice it to say, I was one of the lucky ones who made it to a transport. As irony would have it, it was the Empyrean Freighter."

Luana gave her a moment to collect her thoughts. She had seen this scene play itself out many a time since joining the fleet. People seemed to come to a point where they felt compelled to tell you how they made it. They would sit there before her reliving the devastation and horror, before once again starting their tale with a haunted look in their eyes, as they thought about those that hadn't been so lucky.

"Well, oddly enough there wasn't many vacant positions for investigative journalists in training—of the female persuasion—on the _Malocchio_. You weren't with us then, so you don't know how lucky we were to be on a Freighter that was clean and somewhat maintained, where people took care of their own. Transferring to another ship wasn't really an option at first."

"Looking back, I know now I took the easy way out. I went back to working for Sire Regus and was happy to be alive for a while. A short while." She snorted self-derisively. "Then I knew the only way I was going to get a break into journalism was to find the next big story and report it myself. Well, there weren't a lot of big stories waiting to break on the _Malocchio_, if you know what I mean. I stayed put for a long time hoping for a transfer." She smiled ruefully and shook her head. "I managed, oddly enough with Sire Regus' personal recommendation and a strong word from Ama, to get a transfer to the _Galactica_."

"You knew Ama then?" Luana asked.

"Oh, yes. I've only been on the _Galactica_ for a sectar. Ama had an idea then that Regus would try to discredit Starbuck. I don't know how . . . well, you know." She rubbed a spot on her chest, beneath her nightshirt.

Luana touched her own Empyrean Talisman, recognizing the familiar gesture. She nodded, recalling now that Starbuck had mentioned the sanitation worker hadn't been aboard long. "So Regus is behind all this?"

"Well, it came from him. It just went a lot farther."

"Dracus?" Luana asked, finding it even _more_ distasteful that one of the Council of Twelve would be behind defaming Starbuck's character.

"No, he's simply a ready and willing pawn." Oriana replied. "It's bigger than that."

"Who?" Luana asked.

"Fausto." Oriana replied, awaiting the predictable response.

"Who the frack is Fausto?"


	32. Chapter 32

Starbuck looked down at his instruments, as the computer beeped the time signal. They had entered the asteroid belt some time ago. Even with the coordinates given to them by the _Galactica_, the Vipers had almost missed the source of the bizarre energy waves, their irregularity making localization difficult. They passed it by twice before Apollo spotted the inconspicuous spheroid. Despite the distance from this system's sun, the object was strangely visible, as if bathed in an ambient light. A light that had no apparent source. Both ships went to full scan.

"The war book doesn't have a clue." Apollo muttered, trying to get a closer look at it. "Nothing remotely like it in the databanks."

"Kind of looks like a keg from the OC." Starbuck mused with a smile.

"Yeah, leave it to you to notice _that_." Apollo returned. "It's a lot denser than your average keg." Apollo watched as data scrolled up his small screen, a breakdown of the object's composition. "Made of composite metals, according to the spectro on it. I've never seen alloys or ratios like these before." For a moment, Apollo had a flashback; he and Zac, finding a supposedly derelict Cylon tanker. It too had seemed so innocuous at

first glance . . . "Wonder what it's for?"

"Well, if it's putting out energy readings that the _Galactica_ is picking up, at her distance and at those levels, it obviously does something noteworthy." Starbuck replied

"It's not doing anything noteworthy right now." Apollo pointed out.

"Lords, look at the specific gravity on that thing." Starbuck interjected, looking at his screen. "And the mass . . . it's enormous! Larger than some of these asteroids." His naked eye was once again drawn to the spheroid, marveling how something that appeared so small could in reality contain such a large quantity of matter. He dragged his attention back to his readouts. "Can't tell if it's hollow or not. More questions than answers, buddy."

"Exactly, Bucko. I've never seen anything quite like it. Doesn't _look_ Cylon. What do you think?"

"Bait?" The lieutenant checked his rear scanner. Nothing.

"The _Galactica_'s preliminary scans for life signs were negative. Not another Empyrean plot out to get you?" Apollo bantered, as he checked his scanners. Nothing. "The _Galactica_'s scans didn't pick up that Base Ship waiting for us either. But no, I don't think it's Empyrean." Starbuck chuckled at the very thought. "Unless it's really just a large luncheon meat in disguise."

"On that note, stay put and watch my back. I'm going in for a closer look."

"I'd just like to point out how often something goes wrong when you tell me

to . . ." He sighed as he watched Apollo's turbos flame to life, his Viper accelerating ahead of him. "Never mind."

The spheroid was tucked away like someone had put it there intentionally. But why? And who? Fracking thing was so small, he couldn't even target it with his computer's attack mode. Starbuck angled his ship to get a better visual shot, just in case it was necessary. "Well?"

Apollo cut his thrusters, and moved in slowly, approaching the spheroid from the side. "The casing looks . . . unscarred and textured. Almost armour-plated, though I can't scan any seams, or see any visually. It's rotating, one full spin every third of a centon. Spinning as if it's reacting to the gravity of the nearest large mass. Or . . ."

"Or, it's active, and watching you back. Careful, buddy." Starbuck warned him.

By then Apollo was already slowly moving his ship in the opposite direction, waiting to see the spheroid's reaction. Nothing. It continued to rotate as before. He moved in closer still for one final look, coming close enough for the object to fill his canopy. "One last pass, Starbuck. Then the Commander will have to be satisfied with our tele . . ."

"Apollo!" shouted Starbuck, as alarms began blaring through his cockpit. "I'm getting a massive surge in meson and tachyon radion. _It's_ scanning _us_!" _His thumb paused over his laser, as he realized the captain's fighter was effectively blocking his shot._ "_Get the  
frack . . .!" _

Apollo never heard him, as a brilliant flash of light blinded the captain and his breath caught painfully in his chest. He felt his limbs go limp and nerveless. For a fleeting moment he was vaguely aware that his ship was engulfed in an energy wave, then, against his will, he submitted to the pull of the encroaching darkness.

----------

Oriana deftly set up her computer station, brushing aside collected paraphernalia as she accessed her files for Luana. "Fausto runs sports betting in the fleet. He's the official bookmaker. All bets go through him, or are handled by his people." She explained. "The Council of Twelve has insisted upon strict regulations for the betting, which is why it's all handled officially through the _Rising Star_, as a subsidiary of the chancery."

"Generally, Fausto makes a ten percent commission on all bets placed, won or lost. It's in his best interest to get equal action on both sides of the bet to minimize his own losses. And of course, it certainly looks more respectable from an outside perspective."

Luana interrupted. "What does this have to do with Starbuck?"

"Patience, Luana." Oriana smiled. "Fausto is from Skorpia. He used to handle the bookmaking at the Dragon's Eye. It was one of the largest chanceries in our system. People came from all over the twelve worlds to gamble and to watch professional sports. A lot of the playoff games in Triad were played there."

"Starbuck mentioned that Borka was connected to that chancery." Luana interjected, thinking about the goon who had attacked Oriana.

Oriana raised her eyebrows. "How did he find that out?"

"Security's data base."

The dark-haired Empyrean woman nodded slowly. "I knew they went back further than the _Rising Star_. I just couldn't find the link. Lords, if I could only hack into . . . " She stopped her musings as she felt Luana's eyes upon her. "Never mind." She smiled innocuously.

"Go on." Luana encouraged her.

"Research is a challenge sometimes." Oriana shrugged. "Designational hazard. Anyhow, the Dragon's Eye was infamous for the amount of action going on _off_ the books. There were ongoing accusations and suspicions of fixing games. Fausto kept himself at a distance from it, but in the meantime his life style took a substantial turn for the better."

"So he was obviously benefiting from the sports betting in more lucrative measures than his wages."

"Never proven, but strenuously suspected. He kept his hands clean. Still does." Oriana remarked.

"But don't the athletes have to be involved in throwing the games?" Luana asked. "Starbuck would _never_ do that."

"Yes, in a game like triad, traditionally the athletes need to be involved."

"But this time?" Luana encouraged her.

"There's something else. I'm just not quite sure what yet." Oriana changed screens. "Finally, I got a list of all the big winners who have been there for the games since Starbuck started playing like a dance hall girl."

Luana stared hard at the woman.

"Uh . . . sorry. No offense intended." The journalist shrugged. "Unfortunately, there have been five separate individuals who have been there and have won substantial amounts on every occasion."

"Oh." Luana frowned, looking at the list of statistics.

"But . . . " she narrowed her parameters, "only two of the five didn't bother going to any of the other games played by other teams."

"_Oh!"_ Luana exclaimed, looking curiously at the two remaining names. "Let me guess, only one of them is Empyrean."

"You got it."


	33. Chapter 33

One micron bantering back and forth, and the next blinded by an incredible surge of energy by the strange spheroid, Starbuck blinked furiously to clear his vision. His heart pounded wildly as he struggled to make out Apollo's Viper dead in space.

"Apollo! Do you read? Apollo!" He checked his scanner, noting with relief that Apollo's life signs were still registering. The Viper was slowly rolling away from the spheroid, which had stopped emitting any detectable radion levels, as well as ceased to spin. Apparently, the thing was dormant again. For now.

"Come in, Apollo!" The captain's fighter was dark. No engines, no internal power. Hades, even Apollo's helmet was dark. Wearily, he kept an eye on the spheroid as he nosed his ship closer.

He hadn't been able to do _anything_ to prevent it. If only Apollo had rolled his ship to port, instead of starboard. Then he would have had a clear shot. Might have actually blasted the thing before it fired . . . whatever it was . . . _Frack!_ Once again, he checked the spheroid. It had slowly resumed its spin. Immediately, he took evasive action, getting himself out of range.

Nothing.

What _was_ the thing's range? It hadn't touched him. Sure, it had him seeing stars inside his ship as well as outside for several microns, but his bird was unscathed. He ran a quick diagnostic just to make sure. Yep, not a scratch.

Meanwhile, it had disabled Apollo's Viper, leaving him floating helplessly in space. Waiting for . . . what? Or maybe _who_ was the more pertinent question. It was a perfect trap, really; small, seemingly innocuous, and deadly. Some curious life-form comes along to have a look, and _pow_! But someone had to come along and pick up the carrion. He had every intention of finding out who after he got Apollo safely out of the way. . . providing that the Commander thought it was an equally wonderful idea.

"Viper Two to _Galactica_." He blew out a deep breath as he waited. Technically, they shouldn't be out of communication range, but as deep within the asteroid field as he was, it was entirely possible he wouldn't be able to contact the bridge due to the interference. In retrospect, he had a much better chance of proceeding as planned if he _didn't _check in with the Commander. Still, one had to follow procedure. "Viper Two to _Galactica_, come in."

Static.

Well, his options were limited. Primarily, he needed to get Apollo safely out of there, and another potential attack from the spheroid was preventing that; therefore, he had to eliminate it. Oh sure, it wasn't the most eloquent of solutions, but then Starbuck had never been accused of being eloquent. Besides, if his gut feeling was right, this wouldn't be the only one lurking around the asteroid belt if command wanted to get a closer look at one.

Again, he targeted the spheroid. He quickly checked how far the captain had drifted. Apollo should be safely out of range of the blast. Really, Starbuck wasn't expecting much of an explosion, but then he hadn't been expecting that his captain would be unconscious right now either.

As before, the computer wasn't any help at all with targeting. It wasn't even picking up the small object. He'd have to do it the old-fashioned way. He deftly performed a manual override of the computer's attack mode and fired. The brief flash of light was almost disappointing, as his laser connected with its target, obliterating it.

He hit his thrusters briefly, nosing towards the captain's front end. Despite the reassurance of his computer's scan, he needed to see his friend. _Really_ see him. If he timed it just perfectly, he could roll right over Apollo's cockpit.

This was the kind of flying he didn't do that often. Every minute manipulation needed to be precise if he wasn't to waste precious time, or destroy two Vipers. He flashed his searchlights. His skill was rewarded as Apollo face was briefly illuminated in the dark cockpit, his eyes closed and his face relaxed.

"Okay, buddy. I'm going to get you out of here." He maneuvered his Viper behind the captain's, nudging between the engines with his fighter's nose to stabilize the steady rotation of the ship. "Lords, I haven't had my nose this far up a superior officer's rear thruster since I was an ensign."

He proceeded to attach a tow line and within centons he was pulling the lifeless fighter through the asteroid belt, keeping an eye on both front and rear scanners as he went. Still nothing. Then again, he knew he would be unlikely to pick up anything until it was almost upon him, the asteroids acting as an effective shield.

It was quite the set up really. The spheroid incapacitated the invading ship, without killing the occupants. The asteroid belt negated any sophisticated scanners, and shielded any signs of an impending task force as the scavengers moved in for the kill. He could almost admire their cunning. The only thing they hadn't counted on was him.

He nodded to himself, as the unsanctioned plan formulated in his mind. They would be expecting to find a dead ship and an unconscious pilot. He had to get back into position quickly for them to be misled. Chances were that the pickup crew wouldn't have the weaponry of the bait, especially if they weren't expecting resistance. And if they _were_ armed, well then he was spoiling for a good fight.

----------

It wasn't exactly cut and dry, but it all seemed to point to one man.

"His name is Myrddin." Oriana explained, her fingers flying over the keys of her computer, bringing up the Empyrean's file.

"Sounds familiar." Luana commented, looking at the identity image. He was rather nondescript. Forty-eight yahrens old, average height, grayish-brown hair worn short, brown eyes, average build.

"He runs a small electronics business, mainly repairing small household items for passengers. He's single, no family post-destruction, and other than belonging to the Archimage Society, he's a loner."

Luana sniffed in amusement. She well knew what Ama thought of the Archimage Society. Parlour tricksters and charlatans she would call them. However, their popularity in the fleet was growing, and they even condescended to showing up for galas and parties to perform their array of tricks to amuse the public. "Did Ama put you on his trail, or did you find him yourself?"

"Found him myself through the process of elimination. Why? Does Ama know him?" Oriana asked.

"I doubt it. Ama wouldn't give the time of day to someone in the Archimage Society." Luana smiled ruefully. "What's the connection with fixing games? Other than the fact that he's placing bets against Starbuck and winning."

"I'm not absolutely sure, but I think it has to do with the ball." Oriana told her. She brought up a vid-file of Starbuck's last game. "Watch the ball leave his fingers."

In slow motion, Starbuck jumped into the air, sharply twisting his body and releasing a shot, the ball slipping smoothly from his fingertips on a path towards a quick point. Oriana hit a key, freezing the frame. "Looks like it's going in, doesn't it? I would swear on my family's graves that it was on target. Wouldn't you?"

Luana nodded her agreement. "Go on."

Oriana hit another key, resuming the vid-file. The ball slammed into the edge of the target, rebounding back into play. "I have thirty-six files just like this one. You're certain it's going in, and then at the last millimicron, he somehow misses."

"But how?" Luana asked, her mind trying to wrap around the poser.

"That's what I'm hoping to find out today." Oriana smiled. "Myrddin is going to be on the _Rising Star_ for that new secton-end market they're trying out. Have you heard about it?"

"Oh, yes." A collection of kiosks selling wares and featuring unique talents, much as used to be featured in the colonies on a regular basis. It was one more attempt at reestablishing familiarity and normalcy into somewhat bleak lives. "He'll be performing?"

Oriana nodded. "It's the perfect chance for me to get into his workshop and take a look around. A lot of Empyreans are planning to make the trip. The Quorum is encouraging their participation."

"You're going to break in?" Luana asked, wide-eyed. "I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that idea."

"Probably not necessary." Oriana replied. "You know that nobody locks their doors on the _Malocchio_. I prefer to think of it as _browsing_." She shrugged indifferently. Either way, she needed to get to the bottom of what was going on. Blowing open a story like this could get her the break she needed to begin a real career in investigative journalism. She would do anything to see that happen. Anything. Just like when she had picked up Borka and Kaden trying to get information out of them, after overhearing them talk about the _special care and attention_ they were using to prepare the court for the next big game. "Are you in, or not?"

Luana sighed. She never thought she would be rummaging through one of her own people's belongings without their permission or knowledge . . . but if it would help Starbuck . . . "I'm in."

----------

"Commander, encoded transmission coming in from Viper Two." Omega informed him from his station. "Estimate an approximate delay time of forty microns due to their distance from the fleet."

"Encoded?" Adama repeated.

"Yes, sir. Decrypting now."

"Viper Two to _Galactica_. We have been attacked by a . . . a weapon that has disabled Viper One with some kind of highly intensified radion wave. Transmitting short-range telemetry now. I'm reading life signs, so have to assume that Captain Apollo is merely unconscious, though I have no way of knowing for sure. I have guided his ship to what I believe is a safe rendezvous point, transmitting vector coordinates now."

"Receiving telemetry, Commander." Omega confirmed.

"On screen." Adama ordered.

Starbuck's transmission continued. "I believe that the weapon's purpose it to incapacitate a ship in order to capture it. I'm returning to our original coordinates to try and intercept the snitrads responsible for that baby, so we can assess the potential danger to the fleet. Will report when able. Lieutenant Starbuck out."

"Negative!" Adama roared, even as he watched the spheroid change from a seemingly harmless cask to a malignant weapon capable of disabling their most sophisticated fighter craft with a single burst of energy. Every man and woman on the bridge held a collective breath, as they watched the scene play out. "Lieutenant Starbuck, remain with Viper One until reinforcements have arrived!"

"Commander, Fighter Patrol Two is ready to launch in Alpha Bay." Colonel Tigh informed him.

"Receiving relayed vector coordinates, sir." Omega added.

"Lieutenant Starbuck! Respond!" Adama ordered. He slammed his fist down on the console while he watched in horror as his son's Viper drifted helplessly.

Athena adjusted the resolution, replaying the painful attack. "Commander, I calculate an approximate output of one half million wattron units, on a twelve thousand gigacycle wavelon with a single blast. Range appears to be no more than ten metrons."

"No response from Viper Two, Sir." Omega told him grimly.

"He was likely already in the asteroid belt before we transmitted your order." Tigh pointed out.

"And knowing Starbuck, that was _exactly_ what he had in mind. Of all the rash, foolhardy, impetuous . . . Blast!" Adama sucked a deep breath in between his teeth. "Launch Patrol Two to intercept Viper One and stand by. Have an additional two fighters and a shuttle rendezvous with them to . . . facilitate the recovery of Viper One. Medical personnel to attend." His jaw tightened with suppressed tension and frustration. "Vipers Three and Four will then locate Lieutenant Starbuck, and drag him back here by his tail vapours."

"Yes, sir!"

Once back in the asteroid field, Starbuck looked around for a good place to hide. He soon found it; a crater on a fair-sized asteroid, near where they had sighted the object. Slowly, he maneuvered his Viper down into it, giving him a good view of the area. He shut down everything but passive scanners and bare life support.

And waited.


	34. Chapter 34

Almost twenty centons had passed since Starbuck had positioned his ship to wait for the vermin that had attacked them. With each passing moment he mused about the similarities between this incident and the last time he had experienced like marauders.

It had been yahrens since he had seen any scavenging activities, and those that had occurred on the outer edge of the Twelve Worlds certainly hadn't had the technological sophistication of the spheroid. The privateers that he had had the displeasure of meeting almost a deca-yahren before, when he was an ensign on the War Cruiser Polaris under Commander Ranen, had two agendas.

Their preference was to pick over the remains of fighters and even stricken communities after a large-scale battle, taking anything salvageable or valuable when the victims were too shell shocked to do anything about it. It was the coward's way. The easy way. It was also very profitable.

Occasionally, and always unexpectedly, they would attack a small patrol, often one returning from a mission, so they would be tired, damaged, or low on fuel, or trainees, who wouldn't have the skill to best them. Usually they would use a similar tact, using a blanketing asteroid field or some other buffer to hide their approach, hitting the fighters like a pack of hungry lupine and causing just enough damage to force them down. Then they would land, deal with any survivors as their mood dictated, and tow or fly the ships back to their base, depending on the condition. Ironically, Starbuck had heard that often ships were compacted and sold back to the Colonies for the scrap metal. Somehow he just knew that he was dealing with something similar here.

He almost sensed them before he saw them. About a third the size of a Viper, and eerily resembling a smaller and more streamlined version of a Cylon Raider, almost avian in shape, they penetrated the area where the spheroid had been, approaching simultaneously from four different directions. Each ship moved as a shadow, barely detectable to the naked eye in the virtually aphotic conditions.

Starbuck looked to his scanners. They appeared to be single-manned craft, but once again, the warbook failed him in ship identification. He switched screens, watching with disgust as the computer flickered back and forth between 'human' and 'unidentified' on the biosigns. The problems being that he was using passive scanners only for the moment, and that was he was only concentrating on one ship and one being.

They began covering the area, obviously moving in a routine grid pattern. Starbuck sat patiently as they moved outward, encompassing an increasingly larger perimeter. He smiled when the search became less organized and more frenzied as they continued to scour the zone.

He could just imagine their frustration; arriving at their trap to find it destroyed, and the prey missing. It had taken them almost forty centons to arrive, thus their base was either some distance away, or their velocity was a fraction of a Viper's. Actually, considering their compact size, that would make sense. The ships appeared to be built for maneuverability, not speed, again perfectly logical if one existed within an asteroid belt, and there certainly weren't any habitable planets close by, which would act as a likely base.

Now, if his luck held, he could follow them back to base and see just what he was up against. By now, they must be assuming that their quarry had somehow managed to slip their snare. He was also feeling reasonably confident that their scanners weren't as technologically advanced as his own. After all, he was still sitting there in his crater as cozy as a baby lupus in its den, while they were routing around each and every asteroid trying to find him.

Finally, the ships moved away from the site, then clustered together in a diamond shaped formation before heading off in the opposite direction from the Fleet. He waited a moment before powering up again, giving them a reasonable head start. They didn't appear to be scanning aft, but he was taking no chances. _This is it, Bucko. Don't screw up, or the Commander will make sure you're stripped and moduled, providing you actually make it back to the Fleet. _A brief thought of Luana popped unexpectedly into his mind, before he began shadowing the retreating ships, being careful to tuck in close to the passing asteroids and stay out of sight.

----------

It felt wrong. Here Luana was on a transport riding over to the _Malocchio_ Freighter as though it was any other day off, and she was simply visiting friends or quasi-family. In reality, she was about to break into a stranger's workshop searching for some kind of evidence that would clear Starbuck's reputation on the triad court. Of course, it might make her feel a little better if she knew what she was looking for.

Meanwhile, the other passenger's eyes were glued to the IFB monitors as Siress Tinia and Sire Dracus of the Council of Twelve formally announced the intention to broaden bureaucratic representation to a local level concerned with responsibilities of a more civic nature.

_Following the impending elections for the Council of Twelve, we will turn our attention to organizing 'electoral districts' based on the census of the fleet's population in preparation for civic elections._

"About time." Oriana remarked. "The Council of Twelve managed to nip Sire Regus' plans for Distinct Society Status in the bud, and still come off looking benevolent. This will mean mandatory elections for the Empyrean Quorum. That will be revolutionary."

"Maybe." Luana returned. "Personally, I wouldn't be surprised if our people simply elected the same old fools that have been leading them all along."

Oriana chuckled. "You're right, you know. I'll be curious to see if Ama runs again to keep an eye on Albus and Regus."

"I'm sure she will." Luana added, as she prepared to disembark. "It will be interesting to find out how many representatives will be elected, and thereby where the balance of power will lie."

"Yes." Oriana agreed as she led them off the shuttle.

In contrast to Luana's previous visit to the freighter, there was a steady movement of people through the corridors as they went about their daily routines. Still, it took little time to cross the ship and move up to epsilon deck, where Myrddin's workshop and quarters were. A simple sign on the door indicated it was 'closed'.

Oriana reached out and turned the knob, a triumphant smile crossing her features as the door pushed open. "Told you."

"It's still trespassing." Luana reminded her, even as she followed the woman inside.

The shop was chockablock with household gadgets and simple electronics that were either being repaired or refitted. The shelves ran ceiling to floor and the only other pieces of furniture were a workbench and a stool. Luana was certain there wasn't an empty square centimetron anywhere, though everything appeared impeccably organized. A rear door at the opposite end of the room likely led to Myrddin's quarters.

"Lords, where do we begin?" Luana asked morosely.

Oriana closed the door behind them. "The least accessible places. You check the desk, I'll check his quarters."

"I can't believe I'm doing this." Luana muttered, as she began rifling through drawers and cupboards, still not certain what she was looking for.

"It's for a good cause." Oriana returned, as she opened the door and entered the quarters.

"Yeah, your career advancement." Luana murmured, reminding herself it was also for Starbuck. She opened a lower drawer and began looking through, finding pages of schematics and text books illustrating various electronic mechanisms.

"Luana! Come here!" Oriana called from the other room.

Lu quickly joined her, entering the quarters which were Spartan in comparison to the workshop. Again, everything was tidy and in its proper place. A small bed, a desk, a chair and a computer. . . in front of which sat Oriana. "What is it?"

"Myrddin's records. Fausto is listed as one of his customers three sectars ago."

"Isn't that kind of . . . stupid?" Luana asked.

"Hey, it might have been when Fausto first contacted him. It's a small payment for a repair on a monitor. Totally on the level."

"Fausto had to come all the way to the _Malocchio_ to get his monitor fixed?" Luana asked skeptically. "Not likely."

"Believe it or not, there aren't a lot of competitors in the business. I hear there's some guy over on the Sagittarius who fiddles with electronics as a hobby, but there's not a lot of people doing it on a small scale for a living right now." Oriana explained. "Besides, that could have been when Fausto approached him. Let's check out his personal account and see how he's fared since meeting Fausto."

Luana watched Oriana's fingers fly across the keyboard. She stopped briefly to look around the desk, eventually turning the keyboard upside down and finding a password taped to the bottom before resuming her research.

"Now, this is interesting. I have two deposits of a thousand cubits a secton apart of each other, coinciding with the beginning of the triad season. This was before Starbuck and Apollo had even played their first exhibition game."

"Can you trace the deposit?" Luana asked.

"No. Cash deposit. But I'll just cross reference the dates with his records and see what we come up with."

"Well?" Luana asked, leaning over Oriana's shoulder, but finding the constant stream of commands and screen changes confusing. It was like being in cadet training again.

"No explanation."

"I guess not." Luana snorted, looking around the small quarters. "What now?"

"I'm checking his personal communications."

"Lords . . . "

"Look under the bed."

"What?" Luana asked bemused.

"Look under the bed. Really." Oriana repeated, swinging around to watch. "Myrddin sent off a message this morning saying the package would be under the bed." Her eyes shone brightly with excitement.

Luana was on the floor and pulling a small box out in microns. She placed it upon the bed and opened it. "What is it?"

The small black box was about the size of Starbuck's fumarello igniter. The top of the unit housed a power button, and a small raised circle on one side dominated the rest. She handed it to Oriana.

"It's some kind of remote unit with a finger touch control." Oriana replied, holding it lightly in her hand. She activated it, walking slowly around the room.

A crash from the workshop drew their complete attention. Their eyes met in anticipation and they rushed into the other room to see a ball rolling across the floor . . and Borka and Kaden standing just inside the room.


	35. Chapter 35

Starbuck's readouts grew more distorted the deeper into the asteroid field he flew. It was almost as if the rock formations were emitting some kind of signal that was scrambling his sensors. And, of course, any attempt to verify this theory proved unproductive as his computer continued to spit out information that just couldn't be accurate.

For instance, his latest coordinates showed that he had backtracked, and then doubled around the asteroid belt, when his sense of direction, honed over many yahrens in a cockpit, told him otherwise. He had also picked up a large, unidentified ship briefly on his scanner, which in the next micron had disappeared completely. Again, it didn't make sense.

Yeah, for all his assumptions about how much more sophisticated his scanners and engines were, he was beginning to realize that those perks weren't really advantages in this belt. In fact, all they had really achieved was to give him an elevated, and perhaps false sense of security as he surreptitiously tailed the four ships ahead of him.

Now he was getting a decided suspicion, reminiscent of not a few pyramid games he'd been in, that he was being carefully manipulated. Yeah, he'd had a bit of experience with that lately, Ama coming to mind. The whole fracking star system was out to get him after all.

He decreased power even further, letting the ships edge away from him, then instead of banking right to follow them around the immense asteroid they were closing in on, he dove below it. Immediately, he hit his turbos, following the curvature of the rock as he maneuvered himself ahead of them. He then reduced power again, drifting silently. Waiting. Suddenly, his comm channel crackled to life.

"We've lost him," said one voice. Gravelly. Apparently Human from the computer's vocal wave analysis. "I'm not reading him anymore."

"That's impossible," said another, also apparently Human. "He was directly behind us."

"Well, he's not behind you _now_, Torg."

"Bex, report."

Starbuck shook his head in bemusement as his instruments again responded normally. It wasn't the asteroids that were jumbling his sensors; it was the fracking ships ahead of him!

"Scanning for him now, Torg." A further voice joined in.

Starbuck powered down further. Humans. But Lords, how many of them were out there? And where had they come from? The Colonies? The Thirteenth Tribe? Terra?

"It's a fairly big ship, Bex. Surely to God, you can find her."

"Aye, she is at that. I'll find her. She's out here somewhere. I can feel it. Rovers move in, scanners on full spread, all wavebands, three hundred and sixty degrees."

_Frack. Well, so much for his theory on unsophisticated scanners. Still, his instinct told him to stay put._

Once again he sat still, waiting them out. His scanner suddenly picked up four additional ships, appearing as if they had just materialized from nowhere. These ones the Warbook classified as fighters. Old fighters, museum class. Two were somewhat similar to what he'd seen Croad fly in the Proteus system, the rest he didn't recognize.

He checked his instruments. Lords, he had to be practically on top of their base. But where was it? Another blip abruptly appeared, and he confirmed the coordinates of their point of origin. Now he was up against five fighters, no two exactly alike, as well as the four smaller ships that had scrambled his scanners while they searched for him. They had either found him, or simply flushed him out, he wasn't sure which anymore.

Well, as much as he'd love to stay and play, it was really time to go home for dinner. He plotted a course towards their base, avoiding their fighters. He had come for reconnaissance, so he had better get on with.

With a flip of a few switches, he powered up again and hit his thrusters, barreling past the asteroid on a path towards their base. It was invigorating after all the skulking he had done, racing death-defiantly by rock formations and twisting through space corridors.

"Got her! She's heading for base. Repeat she's heading for base."

"Huh? How'd it get past us?"

"Hell, who knows! Intercept! Launch Voyagers and Rogues!"

Starbuck held his course, knowing that at any moment two more enemy squadrons could intercept him, but all it would take was one scan to record the necessary telemetry and then he could be out of there. So far, none of them were even touching his speed, so the odds were looking good . . .

"Gotcha." Starbuck muttered, as his scan revealed enormous power readings, an artificially created enclosure, burrowing deep into the massive asteroid he was approaching. An opening in the mouth of what looked like a huge cave seemed to be their launch bay, but despite their claims, two squadrons were _not_ launching to challenge him.

It was a ruse.

Instead, his rear scanner picked up two ships on his tail. He checked his warbook. "No way . . ."

He pulled up sharply, noting they were slower to respond to his evasive maneuver. As tempted as he was to hit his turbos and take it home, he had to verify the data. _Lords, if it was true . . ._

He continued to arc, until he was looping up and over them, spiraling downward in the opposite direction. Again, they reacted sluggishly to his moves, as if they were unfamiliar with their own ships. He saw the flash of a laser go wild, as though the pilot had hit the button by mistake.

He slammed his stick forward, increasing his thrust and heading straight for them. His thumb lightly caressed the firing button as he waited until they were in range, then he dove, coming down right on top of them. He raced between them, lasers firing as he added to the data collection by again scanning the fighters for his databank. A quick visual was all he needed to confirm what he already knew in his heart. _Vipers. _He could clearly see the distinct markings that the Juggernaut alone had indulged in, identifying his fighters proudly as belonging to the_ Battlestar __Pegasus_.

Well, as much as he'd love to find the answer to that particular mystery, for Sheba as much as for any other reason, it was time to go home. A glance at his scanner showed the other nine ships closing in. The fighters fanned out, lasers blasting, as though attempting to impede his way by sheer luck. Apparently, they didn't realize that the star system was vast, and that there was more than one way to go . . . or perhaps their resources were limited.

Regardless, if the Fleet stayed clear of them, with their limited and archaic forces, they didn't seem to be a very big threat. And they were Human. Brothers.

But . . . really, they were more the kind of brothers that you didn't tell your girlfriend about, or kept hidden in the basement, only letting them out on holidays. Shackled. When sedated. He wasn't sure how the Commander would feel about it, but he was more than willing to write them off as black-ovines, and wish them good riddance.

Except for the _Pegasus_ connection.

Yeah, he could just imagine Sheba and Bojay barreling through the belt with lasers firing to get to the bottom of how two _Pegasus_ Vipers had ended up both here, _and_ with that riffraff. And he couldn't blame them either. Frack, he'd even _join_ them, but the numbers would have to be more even before he was willing to attack the base.

He hit his turbos, heading away from the others, knowing he could easily double back, but not until long after he had lost them. The last thing he wanted was to lead them back to the Fleet. He would have to clear the asteroid field and then make his way, so he would be certain there were no marauders lurking behind the relative shield that the rock formations created.

Then there were the spheroids. He adjusted his scanner, narrowly defining the search parameters for elevated radion readings. The little buggers could be anywhere.

The Vipers were pursuing, but again, they were sloppy. If they kept tailing him through the narrow corridors at this velocity, they might very well barrel into an asteroid. He wondered if the _Pegasus_ pilots were still alive on the base. That might be all the impetus that Adama needed to organize a rescue . . .

A blaring alarm sounded in the cockpit. He cut his power, hitting reverse thrusters, feeling like he would snap in two as he ricocheted backwards. He cut thrust as he closed his eyes against the sudden blinding flash of light, his body jerking, and feeling as though a bolt of energy had just shot through it. The air seemed to be sucked from his lungs, and he gasped, even as he realized his ship was still fully powered up and responding. The problem was, he wasn't.

He sucked in a painful breath between his teeth and then let it out raggedly. The next one was marginally easier. And the next, even better. "Frack . . . " His hands felt wooden, and were trembling so badly, he couldn't grip the control stick. His Viper rocked hard as a laser blast shot caught him amidships.

"That's a warning shot? Lord, thundering Jesus, what the hell do you think you're doing?" a voice blared in his ear. "Enemy pilot, we have you locked on target. Surrender now, or you will be destroyed."

Sparks flew from his control panel, but most of his systems seemed to be holding. Yep, that was one lousy shot.

"No response. She has power, but she's not moving. The pilot must have been affected by the Dynamo's blast."

"Wraiths, move in and secure."

_Move!_ But he couldn't. It was as if he was stuck in a useless husk, instead of his own body. He could feel a sharp pain traveling along every neuro-pathway, as his body continued to jerk from the jolt of energy it had absorbed.

Starbuck blinked his eyes, feeling the sweat beading on his forehead. Apollo had been out for a good twenty centons before he had left him, and then he _still_ hadn't regained consciousness. Starbuck didn't _have_ twenty centons!

The faint shadow of a ship crossed over him. The Wraith, no doubt. He could hear his collision alarm begin blaring, then the sound of metal on metal, as the tow line was attached.

_Frack, the Commander will have your hide. If you still have a hide._

----------

As Borka slammed the door to Myrddin's workshop, his eyes immediately zeroed in on the control device in Oriana's hand. The control device that _they_ had come to collect. In an instant his weapon was in his hand. He smirked as he watched Luana make a move to draw hers a millicenton later.

"Don't." Borka warned Lu, motioning with his compact laser as he walked towards them. "I don't want to have to hurt you."

"Yeah, right." Luana replied, her hand hovering at her side, as she took in the familiar features of the walking landram. His formerly platinum blond hair was now white as fresh fallen snow, the peculiar blue tips gone.

Kaden was at her side in an instant, grabbing her roughly by the left arm as his partner covered them. He disarmed her, weighing the blaster in his hand. "Nice. Real fire power." And then to Oriana, "Hand it over, Lady."

Oriana hesitated for a moment, tucking the device behind her and reflexively taking a step backwards towards Myrddin's quarters.

Kaden responded by wedging the Colonial blaster under the Luana's chin, still gripping her arm. "Need to think about it, Baby?" he asked the journalist.

"The safety's still on . . . Baby." Luana reminded him, holding herself erect as the cold metal pressing against her neck sent a shiver through her.

Kaden's eyes fell to the weapon's grip, just as Luana curled her fingers in tightly, bending her right hand back and striking him upwards under the nose with the heel of her palm. Kaden's head snapped back with the sharp crunch of nasal cartilage and he howled in pain, letting go of her arm and covering his face, as blood flowed between his fingers.

Abruptly, Luana ducked behind Kaden, putting him between herself and Borka, as she reached into her boot for her knife. She twisted, letting it fly at Borka, who was trying to get a bead on her. Her aim was true. A scream of pain tore from the man's throat, his weapon dropping to the floor, as he grabbed his bloody forearm. "Run!" she yelled to Oriana.

The journalist needed no further encouragement as she ran past the landram, controller tight in her hand, heading for freedom.

Pain exploded in the center of Lu's back, as Kaden's elbow connected with her. She flew through the air, crumpling into a heap against the shelves. She could see Kaden turning, aiming at Oriana with the blaster. His bloody hand hit the weapon's setting switch and he fired as she pulled desperately at the door handle. "No!" Luana yelled from across the room.

Oriana shrieked as she hit the door hard. Ever so silently her back arched, fingers clawing at the wall, before she went limp, slumping down to the floor.

"What the frack did you do?" Borka yelled at Kaden, still gripping his bloody forearm, his retrieved weapon back in his other hand. He raced to the woman's side.

"I thought it was on stun!" Kaden yelled back, his eyes wild with panic as he stood still, reluctant to go any closer, the smell of charred flesh in the air. His hand shook as he stared at the weapon in disbelief.

"Sweet Sagan . . . " Borka muttered, as he gripped Oriana by the arm, turning her over slowly. Wide eyes stared up at him . . . or through him.

Luana crawled towards Oriana, shaking her head in horror. "She's not . . . "

Borka nodded, before hesitantly reaching down and gently closing eyelids.

"Don't touch her!" Luana screamed, bolting to her feet and launching herself at Borka.

It caught her midair, her entire body going limp as a rag doll before she landed just short of Borka. He glared at Kaden, who was still pointing the blaster, this time at Luana's still form. "God help us," he murmured.


	36. Chapter 36

Apollo's eyelids felt as though someone had glued them shut. Glued, then nailed, taped, and finally welded, for good measure. A dull throbbing in his head slowed his recall of the events that had led to . . . whatever had happened. With more effort than should really have been necessary, he pried his eyes open. He probably shouldn't have been surprised that he was still in his Viper, but he was.

He automatically looked to his console, struck dumb when he put together the fact that his ship was completely powered down. The fact that he was cold, and his breath was frosty and fogging up his canopy should have clued him in immediately, but his brain still felt fuzzy. He reached for his toggle switches, feeling his ship's power supply kick in as he clumsily flipped them. They beeped and bleeped their way through their startup routines, and the air began to warm up.

After his vision fully cleared, he checked his instruments. He was on the edge of an asteroid belt. Images of the patrol came back, and he checked his scanners Nothing within range._ Where in Hades Hole was Starbuck? _He hit his comm, and called for him. Nothing. Just static. Then, something beeped.

By virtue of the scanner, he could clearly see two Vipers approaching him. In the distance, two more fighters and a shuttle followed. "This is Captain Apollo," he called again. His voice sounded thick and hoarse and he cleared his throat, licking his dry lips.

"Captain, Bojay here. Lords, are we ever glad to hear your voice."

"Bojay, where's Starbuck?" Apollo asked. He lifted his helmet and rubbed his throbbing temple, blinking several times to adjust his vision, which seemed to alternate between blurry and clear.

"He went back into the asteroid belt to find out who planted that weapon that hit you."

"I heard the Commander's going to have him clean the launch tubes with his toothbrush when we find him." Sheba's voice joined in, the banter barely disguising the concern in her voice. "How are you, Apollo?"

"Good question," he replied. "I feel like I was sideswiped by a supernova. What in Hades happened?"

"That spheroid hit you with some kind of high intensity energy blast. It shut down your ship . . . and you." Bojay responded. "There's a shuttle on the way with Boomer and Lia escorting it. The Commander ordered us to load your bird, and have the med tech check you out, Apollo."

"Wait just a centon, Bojay. What about Starbuck? Any word?" He started to run a diagnostic, checking out his ship's functions. He hit the engines, and the turbines began to spin. Then, suddenly, power abruptly died in all capacities. "Frack!" Once again he went through the routine, starting her up, regaining power and comm within a centon.

"Apollo! Are you okay?" Sheba's voice was bordering on panic. "Come in, Apollo!"

"I'm okay, Sheba. Just a power cut."

"_Just_ a power cut." She exclaimed. "More like a power _failure. _I don't know about the you guys, but I happen to find _power_ a handy little thing to have when you're pursuing unknown enemies on their home turf!"

Bojay chuckled at his wingmate's response. "She's got you there, Apollo. Our orders are to see you safely loaded, and then go find Starbuck."

"I'm not going to sit on my astrum in a shuttle while my wingman is missing!" Apollo protested.

"Not much you can do about it, Captain. Your ship is clearly in no shape to continue on this mission. You'd be more of a liability than anything." Bojay replied evenly. "I know how you feel, Apollo. I'd want to be out there too if it was Sheba, but be reasonable."

"And if you can't be reasonable, we'll get your father on the comm to straighten you out." Sheba threatened. Her voice softened, "Your know it's procedure. You lost consciousness. You need to get checked out." She heard him take a breath. "Look, if it was me in your place, Commander Cain would have issued the same order, Apollo. Besides, I'm not going to risk losing you again after Starbuck dragged your stunned astrum out of there. You know he'd kill me."

"Yeah, she's doing it for Starbuck." Bojay chuckled. "No selfish motivation at all."

"You know, you can be replaced, Bojay." Sheba returned, her face flushing at her transparent behavior. "Recruits are lining up in droves to learn how to fly a Viper, and I hear the sanitation ship is desperate to find a new fluidics engineer." Her grin would have made Baltar quail.

Apollo blew out a deep breath at the unsavoury thought of sitting this one out. They were right though. He knew he was still suffering residual effects of the blast. "All right then, but while we're waiting, tell me everything that happened."

----------

Starbuck struggled to control his trembling hand as he reached for his console. He had already established that fine motor movements were impossible, as he wasted over five centons trying to fire his lasers at the Wraith towing him towards the enemy landing bay. His hand felt like a piece of dead flesh, ignoring every mental command he gave it, as his ship drew nearer to the tarmac.

His fingers tapped noisily against the console, and he cursed, unable to stop the shakes that wracked his body. He needed to reach the switch for his emergency beacon; otherwise, the _Galactica_ would have no chance of finding him in that hole in the wall in the middle of nowhere.

It had occurred to him to not even try. After all, he was just one warrior amongst many, hardly worth sacrificing anyone else for. He sure as Hades didn't want anyone risking their life to save his. But that niggling _Pegasus_ connection haunted him. Drove him to try and activate his beacon. What had become of the Juggernaut and his Battlestar? He had to let Commander Adama know that Cain was still out there. And Sheba. And . . . Cassiopeia.

Sweat dripped off of him and he sniffed in self-disgust. Yeah, it took a lot of energy to move your finger a centimetron to activate a beacon after being belted with a paralyzing radion wave. He slowly leaned forward, trying to use gross movements to apply pressure with the back of his hand. He shifted forward again, rewarded when the switch clicked into place. A small flashing light confirmed its activation. Spent, he slumped back into his seat and waited for them to bring him in.

_Wait a centon. Cain launched his fighters to the __Galactica_._ Why would there still be any . . . He winced, closing his eyes as the possibilities made his head throb. It was the last thing he needed right now, on top of everything else._

----------

"Commander, we've just picked up an emergency beacon from Viper Two." Tigh informed Adama, pointing to the navigational chart. "Here." It was closer to the outer perimeter of the asteroid belt from their position.

"Status report for the rescue team?" Adama asked. It had been a welcome relief when Bojay had reported rendezvousing safely with Apollo. The shuttle and Viper escort should be arriving at any centon.

"ETA two centons." Tigh replied.

"It sounds like Starbuck has run into some trouble with the race that are responsible for that . . . monstrosity." What was it really? A weapon? A trap? He crossed his arms over his chest, pondering the star map. "There has been no detection of these . . . lifeforms."

"No, sir."

Adama sighed. While impulsive, Starbuck was a good officer. He weighed the likelihood that the lieutenant wanted to ID the marauders out of anger or impetuousness following Apollo's attack, against the outside chance that there was something more significant going on. Starbuck's intuitive instincts, his innate ability to 'size up' a situation, were legendary. So were his skills as a pilot. If they took his ship, then Adama had to assume their forces were formidable . . . unless the lieutenant simply ran into another one of the spheroids.

"Tigh, who's on Lieutenant Boomer's wing escorting the shuttle?"

"Ensign Lia," the Colonel replied. "She was in the top three of her class, Commander. A fine pilot."

"Yes, I remember." Adama nodded. "Have Ensign Lia escort the shuttle back to the _Galactica_, providing there is no sign of enemy advancement. Lieutenant Boomer will accompany Captain Bojay and Lieutenant Sheba to Starbuck's position. Remind them we know little about who we're up against, and to proceed with caution. This is strictly a reconnaissance mission for now."

"Sir?" Tigh asked, eyebrows quirked.

"You heard me, Colonel."

"And Starbuck?"

Adama tightened his lips grimly. "He knew the risk when he took off against orders. I'm not going to risk three additional pilots for the sake of one, until I have a better idea of what is happening here. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

----------

Luana awoke with a start, trying desperately to reorient herself. It was as dark as night, and she was curled into the fetal position in some kind of box. Almost like a casket, only about half as long. There was something foul stuffed into her mouth and secured there with what felt like a huge strip of tape. Her hands were bound in front of her, and her feet beneath her.

The box was moving, and she tried to shift her weight to upset the balance. Lords, she was stuffed in there so tightly, there was barely room to breathe, never mind upset the forward momentum.

She tried to scream through the gag, but barely a squeak left her mouth. She could feel fear suffusing her and took several deep breaths to calm herself. She closed her eyes as memories of Oriana intruded. Hitting the wall. Slumping to the ground. Eyes wide in death.

_Calm down, girl. _

She took a brief inventory of her body. Other than some apparent bumps and bruises, she seemed to be fine. At least she had that going for her. She shook her head, wondering what the goons had in store for her. Hades, they had killed Oriana to prevent her from revealing their triad scam. She could expect no less.

Her eyes watered as she thought about Starbuck. He should be back from patrol soon. She hadn't told him what she had in mind, but he would figure out why she had asked so many questions about Oriana in so much detail. He _had_ to figure it out. No one else would even miss her for another entire day when she was scheduled to return to duty.

Lords, Starbuck would kill her when he figured out what kind of mess she had managed to get herself into. Well, as long as Borka and Kaden hadn't beaten him to it.


	37. Chapter 37

While the mouth of the manmade cavern was only large enough to fly a craft slightly larger than a standard shuttle through, the hangar itself was immense. Starbuck could see a slight flash, as his Viper passed through their atmospheric forcefield, following the other ships in. Ships of different classes and sizes littered the platforms to one side. Most of them appeared to be in various stages of being stripped bare, scavenged for parts.

One especially caught his eye. The white ship was large, trimmed in black, and the engines—its ribbed thruster bells extending from the stern—looked archaic, like the rocket engines of yore. He couldn't make anything of the symbols, the markings were utterly alien, but he was certain he had seen the illustrated standard somewhere before.

His ship bounced up and down as she hit the tarmac, interrupting his musings. He winced. He could have done better than that landing her with his teeth. He squeezed his hand, trying to tighten it into a fist, and sucked in a breath, as once again, his nerves protested. A hot bolt of pain shot up his arm. _Frack!_

His Viper rolled to a stop. He shook his head as a group of men carrying various prying tools approached him, some of them from the fighters that had just set down. Oh, great. They were going to treat his bird like a can of processed food, prying it open to retrieve the contents. Well, he and the ole girl had gone through too much for him to allow that to happen . . . besides, if he was ever going to get out of there, she was his ride.

Slowly and laboriously he reached for the release. Despite another shooting pain, he forced his shaking index finger to hit the switch. The familiar whine and hiss filled the air as the canopy began to rise jerkily. He really needed to speak to his ground crew about that.

In an instant, a gruff, dirty man with a full greyish beard, and long, thinning hair stuck his head in the cockpit. He pressed a blaster against Starbuck's temple. "Don't move," he said in rough Colonial Standard. He had an accent, but Starbuck couldn't place it.

"Not a problem," Starbuck replied. Like moving anywhere fast was likely in his current condition.

"He's got one of those Colonial uniforms on." the man shot back over his shoulder. "Are you from the _Pegasus_?" he asked, his blackened teeth and foul breath only centimetrons from the lieutenant as he turned back.

"Where else?" Starbuck shot back. By now another pirate was leaning in from the other side of his ship. Just as filthy and malodorous, but younger with greasy, long hair secured in a braid, he leaned into the cockpit checking out the console. "Don't mind me," Starbuck told him as he leaned back to avoid the accumulation of aromas surrounding him.

"Turn off the tracking signal." The man turned to face him. Grey eyes glared malevolently as he grabbed the warrior by the jacket.

"Tracking signal? I don't know what you mean." _Oh, that little red flashing light which is my best chance of getting out of this cesspool. I don't think so, Pal._

"Your ship is transmitting a tracking signal." The pirate's grip tightened and he jerked Starbuck forward, lifting him off his seat. "I want it to stop. Now."

Starbuck hesitated, before feeling the blaster press into his temple again. "Oh, you mean the emergency beacon. Just a little misunderstanding." He smiled weakly. "Afraid I can't help you there. Once it's set, it can't be deactivated until the master sequencer enables it from the _Pegasus_." As bluffs went, it wasn't bad.

The pirate slammed him back into his seat, looking to his compatriot. "I say we kill him now, Torg. He'll just be trouble."

Torg paused, grabbing Starbuck roughly by the jaw and staring into his eyes. "I don't think you understand. I will kill the other Colonials if you don't deactivate the signal."

Starbuck snorted. "You think I really believe that they're still alive?"

"Let us just kill him now." the younger argued.

"Might as well." Starbuck replied, seemingly indifferently, still staring at Torg, refusing to break eye contact. "And if you blow up the ship, it will stop the signal for sure. Of course, then you can't use it. Not to mention it'll kind of mess up your pretty hangar . . ."

"Let me do it," demanded the other, snarling. "After all, we have not had fresh meat in some time."

"Hmm. And I can see it's been at least that long since you've flossed." Starbuck taunted, while a cold chill settled over him.

"You speak bravely for one who smells as a woman." Torg growled at him, lip curled in contempt.

"Well, where I come from, we've been known to bathe more frequently than once a Leap Yahren." the lieutenant retorted.

Starbuck watched the man's jaw tighten in anger. The blaster disappeared from view, and abruptly two meaty hands reached into his cockpit, grabbed him by the front of his tunic, and jerked him upwards and out of the ship, as if he was a mere child. The pirate then let go, dropping him to the tarmac in a heap.

A vicious kick caught him in the stomach and he doubled over winded, just as another kick struck the center of his back. His back arched reflexively as he gasped in pain.

Two sets of arms reached for him, dragging him to his feet, and holding him erect. He blinked, as sweat and blood ran into his eyes. The right side of his face and forehead stung where he had apparently kissed the tarmac, abrading the skin.

A blow to the gut had him doubling over once again. They dumped him on the tarmac where he collapsed to his knees trying to catch his breath_. Note to self: No more wisecracks about personal hygiene. _

"Get the Colonials. Perhaps we can encourage _them_ to deactivate the emergency beacon." Torg ordered, standing before the lieutenant. "And bring the Obediator. I believe we're going to need it." He smiled menacingly. "I do enjoy a challenge."

----------

The retrieval of Apollo's Viper had gone smoothly. With precision and expertise, the team had loaded it into the shuttle's hold for conveyance back to the _Galactica_. Now he sat in the back of the transport awaiting the results of his medical scans, while the recon patrol left to find Starbuck.

It was _not_ a position he was used to being in. No matter how Apollo rationalized that if it was any of _his_ pilots in _this_ situation, they would also be relegated—by him—to sit like a schlub on the sidelines, he still had an incredible urge to commandeer Ensign Lia's Viper and join the reconnaissance mission. Of course, Cassiopeia had other ideas about that.

"Your neurological scan still shows some residual effects of the radion blast, Apollo. Your strength and motor functions are returning to normal, but you're not a hundred percent as yet." She peered down at her medical analyzer as she spoke to him. "I'm concerned about your persistent vertigo and the tingling in your extremities. It's almost mimicking the symptoms of a Transient Ischemic Episode.

"Which means?" Apollo asked as he pulled his tunic back on.

"I'm not sure." Cassie met his intense gaze with her usual professionalism and honesty. "The truth is, we've never seen a radion blast of this magnitude that has resulted in your particular neuro deficits, not to mention how it effected your ship. I've detected a slight elevation in your inhibitory neurotransmitters, but at least there's no evidence of permanent cerebral damage,. Still, I think you need to be monitored longer, and then be assessed by a physician before you can be cleared for duty."

Apollo sighed. "Cassiopeia . . . "

She looked directly into his eyes, and held up her right index finger. "No. Don't ask me to compromise my professional integrity, Apollo." She touched his hand briefly before crossing her arms protectively across her chest. "I know you want to be out there looking for Starbuck, but if anything happened to you as a result of the blast, _I_ would be the one responsible."

"I realize that, but . . . "

"Boomer will find him. And Bojay and Sheba. This has nothing to do with how I feel about Starbuck right now. I'm making an informed decision based on all the medical facts at my disposal." She defended herself as she felt tumultuous emotions rising to the surface. _Damn! I thought I could do this!_ She took a deep breath, willing herself to maintain her self-control.

Apollo studied her for a moment. "Cassiopeia, I don't doubt your medical skill _or_ opinion. But are you sure _you_ should be out here right now?"

She smiled weakly. He had seen right through her tenuous facade. "I was on-call. Unfortunately, I can't pick and choose my assignments." She dropped her eyes, blinking furiously and swallowing the lump in her throat. She just couldn't deal with his support _or_ compassion just now.

It had been a tough forty-eight centars since she had told Starbuck they needed to take a break. Of course, she had awakened the next morning to discover that their break had turned into a break_up_, with the announcement of Starbuck and Luana's sudden betrothal.

While she had ascertained that he had been cheating on her through his guilty reaction in the Life Station to her bluff about his sperm count, she had really thought it was just a dalliance that he needed to get out of his system. She had even been prepared for him to do that, fully expecting that he would realize he had made the biggest mistake of his life and come running back. Instead, he had gone and got himself engaged.

It had shaken her.

After all, how could Luana have coaxed a real commitment out of Starbuck after so short a time, when Cassie had been unable to do so after a yahren long relationship? What was Cassiopeia lacking?

First Cain, and now Starbuck. Apparently, she was more of a transitional woman. Someone who helped men through the hard times, before they moved on. Once a socialator, always a socialator. _Ah, well at least you're not bitter, Cass . . . _

Besides, Cain hadn't exactly just _moved on_ when he disappeared with the Fifth Fleet at Molecay. Or when he took on three Cylon Base Ships to put himself between Baltar's forces and the Fleet at Gamoray. He was a military man, who acted accordingly.

She reminded herself that Starbuck had said the betrothal was just a ruse. Still, he hadn't told her that he was wrong, or that he wanted her to forgive his transgressions, and pick up where they had left off. He had simply not wanted her to be hurt because of an apparent act of betrayal that he had little to do with . . . or so he would have her believe.

The enigma that was Starbuck. She really had thought that she had him all figured out by now. There wasn't supposed to be any more surprises. What a joke that little theory had turned out to be.

His life was led in constant reaction mode. He never seemed to plan ahead . . . beyond the next scramble, or the next card game, or the next sexual encounter. . . and, for the most part, went with his gut instinct with each brief interval at the crossroads of life. She could imagine him—in his Viper—zipping through the symbolic space corridor of life, firing and dodging laser blasts with equal enthusiasm, as the fates conspired to keep him moving, since he was the most entertaining thing on two legs in the universe.

Lords, she had known a lot of men, but none had captured her heart like Starbuck or Cain. Perhaps it was that underlying vulnerability that they tried so hard to hide behind the façade of forced bravado. Or their mutual tenacity and love of life. How they reveled in the ongoing struggle.

"Cassiopeia?" Apollo put his hands on her shoulders. "Are you all right?"

She drew a deep breath, before straightening her shoulders and meeting his eyes. "No. But I will be." She saw the uncertainty so plainly written on his features. "In time."

----------

A sudden stop in forward momentum intimated that Luana had obviously reached her destination . . . wherever that was. Her limbs were screaming in agony from being positioned like a tautline hitch knot in this one metron tall Samsonator, with the light-weight, hard shell casing, telescoping handles, exterior pockets, in-line wheels, ten-yahren limited warranty and the fifty cubit manufacturer's transmit-in rebate.

Hey, it helped pass the time.

The case opened, and she was dumped onto the cold, hard floor. She clenched her teeth against the pain, as her blood flowed to her previously contracted extremities. She blinked, and turned her head away as a bright light shone in her face. She muttered against her gag, twisting in the opposite direction, trying to reorient herself.

"Don't frackin' move."

She could make out the shadow of the walking landram, as she briefly looked in the direction of the chilling voice. It was Borka. She tested her bonds, once again trying to loosen them, as she had several times on her journey there. The sensation had returned to her fingers, which indicated she had made some progress.

In the background, she could hear the rumbling of the _Malocchio_'s engines. Usually, she was barely aware of the white noise that she had finally become accustomed to after a lifetime of living on the planet Empyrean. She realized she had to be far below the passenger decks for the noise to be so resonant. Far from any chance of rescue.

She had known fear before. The taste was familiar as that of Empyrean Ale. It resided deep within her soul, and slowly and subtly sought to permeate her existence, rising from somewhere near her guts and seeping outward until it immured her entire body within its oppressive walls . . . but only if she allowed it.

Luana tried to swallow, her throat dry and hoarse. She would _not_ let fear paralyze her. She reached for the thick piece of tape which secured her gag, and ripped it off, spitting out the foul piece of cloth . . . which Borka and Kaden must have procured from the bottom of Myrddin's soiled clothing.

Strong arms immediately grabbed her by the upper arms, pulling her upright. "What part of 'don't' move' don't you understand?" Borka shook her, sneering at the slight woman before him.

Luana licked her lips and cleared her throat. "Don't," she retorted, before attempting to hit him with a palm heel strike to the nose, as she had his partner.

He thrust her away from him, and she crashed to the floor on her back, gasping as the breath was knocked out of her. Now, the light was on him and she was able to take in the scene.

The trunk that she had been transported in had Myrddin's shingle on the side. _Myrddin The Magnificent. _Under different circumstances, she might have taken the time to make a disparaging comment at so plainly ripping off that other great Archimagus from ancient Empyrean history . . .

But Borka, the only other person in the small, grimy storage room, was ominously closing in on her. He held her knife before him, as he steadily approached her.

"I didn't want it to come to this." Borka muttered, shaking his head. "Why couldn't you just keep your nose out of our business?"

"You make it sound like it's all _my_ fault." She croaked, scooting away from him on her buttocks. The fear had returned, rising up to grip her by the throat.

"If you hadn't told her to run . . . if you hadn't pulled the blaster . . . thrown the knife." His face was almost haunted, as he tightened his grip on the blade.

"Don't do this. Kaden killed Oriana, not you." Luana reasoned as she tried to regain her feet. While usually agile as a felix, suddenly her limbs responded woodenly in reaction to her rising terror.

"Orders." Borka replied, his features settling in resolve.

"From Fausto?"

He paused for an instant, and then reached down for her. Suddenly she was flipped over on her knees, one meaty forearm around her neck, and the other wielding the glinting blade before her. "How did you find out about Fausto?" His grip on her tightened. "Who else knows?"

"Wouldn't you like to find out?" she snapped.

"Your betrothed?"

Luana sniffed, refusing to answer.

"I know he was poking around into our files. I didn't think he'd be the type to leave a mere woman to do a man's job though." He pressed the apex of the blade to one side of her neck.

"You'll go to Hades Hole for this." Luana whispered, unable to stop the rising tide of tears.

"I know . . . " He replied before taking a rasping breath and, with an anguished cry, drew the weapon sharply across her throat.


	38. Chapter 38

Time. The longer Starbuck lay there on the cold tarmac waiting for the _Colonials _and the mysterious _Obediator_ to arrive, the more he could feel the sensation and strength returning to his body. Only, he wasn't about to let _them_ know that.

A sudden burning sensation on his chest caused him to flinch, his hand subtly moving to the area. He gently palpated the scar from the burn he had received on Alrin, while battling with the demonic Alrinachs. Firing his laser at point-blank range had overheated the Empyrean Talisman he had been wearing, resulting in an almost perfect image of the Empyrean Eye being seared into his flesh.

Cassiopeia had mentioned on more than one occasion that he could have laser debridement treatments, eradicating it forever. However, it was just one more battle scar he wore indifferently. It had seemed to bother Cassie more than it ever did him. Hades, maybe from a woman's view, looking at it while making . . .

He rubbed it briefly as thoughts of Luana flashed through his mind. Ama had once told him it would warn him of danger, protect him from evil . . . but he didn't really believe in all that felgercarb. Besides, he was up to his hairline in danger as it was. He hardly needed a warning from some semi-mythical spiritual entity to tell him that.

The pirates seemed to be ignoring him for now, being far more interested in his ship. Obviously they felt that he was no real danger to them lying there like a beached sea mammal. He could see Torg examining his Colonial Blaster. Oddly enough, it seemed to be the only one in sight which seemed strange. Assuming they had captured at least two Vipers, it would reason they would have a couple blasters already in their possession.

Then again, perhaps they hadn't figured out how to recharge them. He smiled as he imagined the pirates shooting off the lasers indiscriminately until they were exhausted. Permanently.

His eyes again fell on the large white ship he had noticed on the way in. Actually, the more he thought about it, the more the ship looked familiar. Disturbingly so. His first thought was that he had seen it illustrated in a children's book, but that would have been at least twenty-five yahrens ago. In the orphanage school, or one of his many foster billets. No, it was more recent than that, he was sure of it.

Two bedraggled men suddenly appeared from the entrance at the far end of the hangar, escorted by the younger pirate who had threatened to kill him . . . and then consume him. Something about the one on the right appeared familiar. Apparently, today was the day for extreme déjà vu.

Starbuck recognized the tattered remains of the standard issue uniform on both prisoners. Neither had a flight jacket or their boots, and their feet were bare and filthy. Both sported beards and unkempt hair that reflected a couple sectars growth . . . at least.

The man on the right stumbled in surprise when he saw Starbuck lying on the tarmac. He tried to cover his action by looking at the ground, intimating he had tripped over his feet. The other prisoner, who appeared gaunt in comparison, and was hunched over with a hand protectively covering his stomach, looked at his cohort vaguely before he even noticed the warrior ahead of him.

"Ah, our guests have arrived." Torg muttered with a curious affectation to his voice as his men broke into laughter. A circle started to form around Starbuck, enfolding the _Pegasus_ pilots as they came to a halt. "What took you so long, Bex?" he asked the younger man.

Bex shrugged. "Had to bloody find them, I did."

Torg stepped up to the warrior on the right, nudging him with the Colonial laser. "He claims to be of your ship. So, he must know your name. And you must know his."

The prisoner nodded guardedly. "Starbuck. Rooke and I know him. He was in our squadron on the _Pegasus_." He nodded towards his partner. The man gazed blankly at the _Galactica_ pilot. Actually, the man gazed blankly . . . period. His skin was deathly white, and his ragged uniform hung loosely on his frame, as though it was a couple sizes too big. Dark shadows under sunken eyes that closed wearily, bespoke of an illness, or utter and complete exhaustion.

Once again, Starbuck was pulled to his feet, a man either side of him holding him loosely. He weaved, determined to make them think he needed their support. They tightened their grip until he seemingly regained his balance.

Torg glanced at Starbuck. "And _his_ name?"

"Dorado."

It had been yahrens since Starbuck had seen him. Hades, he didn't even realize Dorado had been alive when they had been briefly reunited with the Battlestar_ Pegasus_ almost a half a yahren ago. Squadron mates, classmen, and fellow rabble rousers, they had shared some of the best yahrens of their lives at the Caprican Academy.

A million questions burned in Starbuck's brain as he gazed at his friend. Always known for having a healthy appetite, Dorado had lost some substantial weight, bringing him down to something resembling the shape he had been in following their grueling basic training. Starbuck ground his teeth and bit his tongue, as he looked over the man he thought lost at Molecay. "You look like mong."

"Well, that's what we've been eating." Dorado replied with a grimace. "Two and a half sectars of it, as you well know. Did you miss us?"

Starbuck nodded briefly. "The service was short. You would have liked it. Apollo left early and went home. Told all our friends what happened. You know what he's like. I arranged the after party, of course."

"Open bar?" Dorado asked, eyes narrowing.

"No, just two or three kegs. Of course, when the word got out . . . "

"Enough!" Torg growled at them. "I was hoping the presence of your peers would encourage you to stop the beacon. You have one more chance."

"Just do it, Bucko. I don't think Rooke could take another attack." Dorado told him without hesitation.

If only he hadn't said 'Bucko'. But Starbuck knew his old friend wouldn't have used his nickname if he wasn't deadly serious about his message. He really wanted the beacon deactivated.

Surely Dorado had understood Starbuck's coded message. There should be a two or three man patrol on the way, at the very least. Adama wouldn't take a lot of risks for one pilot, but then Starbuck wouldn't have activated the emergency beacon just to save his sorry astrum, especially after pursuing a certain course of action, which he _knew _the Commander would not condone. Adama knew that, as well as he knew Starbuck.

So why did Dorado want the signal turned off? Granted, it could very well be the obvious condition of his wingman. Hades, if Apollo looked like the walking dead, Starbuck would be doing his all to look out for his wing leader too. But maybe . . . just possibly, Dorado didn't _want_ the others to find them. But why?

"Sure, buddy." Starbuck nodded. "I . . . uh, need some help to get in the cockpit."

Dorado nodded, immediately moving forward. "I'll help him."

"Why don't you simply turn off the signal yourself?" Torg suggested, as Dorado reached Starbuck's side.

"I can't. Only Starbuck can deactivate the beacon. It has a pilot recognition program, which prevents anyone else from disabling it. Hopefully, he'll be able to override the _Pegasus_' Master Sequencer Defense System." Dorado rambled, as he took the place of one of the pirates. "Do you think you can do it?"

"I'll have a whirl." Starbuck returned, holding back the smirk that was threatening to ambush his face. Memories of their late night ale drinking, where they redesigned the Starfighters of the future in the technical detail that far outdid the average aerospace engineer's imagination, came back to him. "I might need an assist."

Dorado nodded very seriously. "I've got him," he told the pirate, realizing he was effectively taking very little of his friend's weight. "Oomph. What have you been eating? Lead flapjacks?"

"With thallium syrup." He shifted his weight to appear to be leaning more heavily on Dorado.

"Sounds divine." Dorado murmured as they moved to the Viper. Lords, it would be mighty tempting to fire up that baby, turn the laser generators on the bastards, and blast out of there! He could see Starbuck's helmet beneath the fighter, apparently fallen off when he was removed from the ship. But that wouldn't help the others . . . "Move your astrum, Bucko."

"Yeah, yeah." He was doing his best. At least the shooting pains had eased, and he could walk, albeit slowly, as well as function. "Lords, you smell like a felix in heat that has just eaten its young, after rolling in . . . "

"I _know_!" Dorado interrupted his colourful description. "Get up there." He pushed the affected pilot up towards the cockpit, climbing up behind him.

Starbuck eased himself back into the familiar seat, waiting for Dorado to appear beside him. He reached inside his boot, grabbing the knife that he had kept there since his experiences began with the well-equipped Empyrean women he knew and loved . . . uh . . . He gave his head a shake. _Where the frack had that come from?_ He quickly palmed the knife across to Dorado a milli-centon before Bex appeared on the other side.

"No funny stuff."

Starbuck glanced at him briefly. "Here goes nothing." He pulled the panel off, revealing the intricate system within. "If I crosswire the hypermodular vector board, and bypass the networked defense system, I should be able to shut down the emergency beacon. What do you think?" Guided by instinct, knowledge and a well designed sense of self-preservation, he reached blindly into the guts of his ship, carefully removing a crucial circuit board and reinserting it backwards, effectively disabling her.

"Just be careful. Sometimes there's bimetallic corrosion on the volton regulators." Dorado leaned in low to watch, hiding the knife within the extra folds of his uniform and secreting it away.

"Right." Starbuck replied after a moment. "Good to know." He popped the panel back into place and hit a toggle switch on the console, switching off the emergency beacon. The _Galactica_ would have had ample time to get a fix on his position . . . assuming they could read it all the way across the asteroid belt. There was really no way to tell.

"The flashing red light is off." Bex informed the others.

"Radio control, and see if the signal has stopped." Torg ordered one of his men. He looked up to the Colonials. "Get down from there."

Starbuck nodded at Dorado, satisfied. They made their way down from the fighter, Dorado again supporting him.

"Nice boots." Torg grinned, his blackened teeth turning what could have been a look of joy into something distorted and just plain ugly. Much like Torg himself.

"Thanks." Starbuck nodded, knowing he was about to lose ownership.

"Do you want to take them off? Or should we?" Torg asked malevolently.

"I think I can manage."

"The prisoners can return to the tunnels." The grimy, grey leader told the others.

"Just tell them what they want to know, Starbuck." Dorado coached him as he was pulled away towards the tunnels. "Believe me, it isn't worth . . . "

"Quiet you!"

Dorado hunched over grabbing his stomach as he was pushed forward by another marauder. The warrior spared a quick glance at his wingman, a relieved expression mixing with a mask of pain, as Rooke shuffled woodenly alongside, eyelids half closed against reality.

"As for you . . . " Torg grabbed Starbuck by the front of his tunic. "It's time for you to become acquainted with our Obediator. Then we'll chat over a nice cuppa tea."

----------

"Bojay, I just lost Starbuck's signal." Boomer told him, as he checked his readouts confirming the sudden cease in transmission.

"Well, at least we still have his latest coordinates." Bojay returned.

"What do you think it means?" Sheba asked after a moment.

"Don't read too much into it, Sheba. They probably realized he was transmitting and just turned off the beacon." Boomer replied.

"Right." She replied. Still, a feeling of unease came over her as she looked at her scanner, the flashing signal symbolizing Starbuck's existence conspicuously absent. Blowing up a Viper was one way of effectively ending that transmission. And if Starbuck happened to be in it at the time . . .

No. If it had blown up, there would have been a radio frequency burst to announce the fact. This was just . . .nothing. Then again, with the possible interference from the asteroid belt, it was quite probable that they wouldn't read a thing. Sheba shook her head, as she assimilated all the information. _Frack! There were too many unknowns!_

"I haven't picked up a single radion wavelon, even with the tweaks that the flight crew made to my scanners." Bojay remarked.

"Probably a good thing, considering what happened to Apollo." Boomer replied.

"Don't you think we'd get enough advanced warning with the adjustments to our ships?" Sheba asked.

"I can't help thinking that Starbuck would have made the same tweaks . . . "

"Thinking the same thing." Sheba finished.

"Exactly." Boomer agreed.

"All the same, the flight crew can make more refined adjustments than any of us can in the cockpit." Bojay offered. "It should help detect the spheroids _before_ they emit the energy wave, by picking up that definitive metal composition Starbuck identified and then transmitted to the bridge."

"Millicentons, my friend. It might all come down to millicentons." Boomer told him.

"That may be all I need." Bojay boasted, his tone light.

"Sounds like a gun fight." Sheba chuckled. "Quickest reaction time wins the draw." Her eyes drifted to her scanner, and then back to the asteroid belt. Apollo had told them to keep an eye open for keg-sized spheroids emitting a subtle glow. The analogy hadn't been lost on any of them, especially considering they were ultimately trying to find Starbuck.

"Starbuck would be putting cubits on this if he was here." Boomer chuckled. "Turning it into a competition."

"I think we can safely say, he's out of the running for now." Bojay returned, his voice serious.

"I remember when you would have taken that bet, Bojay." Boomer reminded him. The Captain had returned from his experiences with the Fifth Fleet and under the tutelage of Commander Cain, a more serious man than when he had been a young Lieutenant newly assigned to the _Galactica_.

Bojay paused for a moment. "So do I Boomer. Starbuck's influence, of course."

"Hardly." Boomer returned. "Hades, you were as bad as him, if not worse! It was probably a command decision to break the two of you up before any serious damage was done."

"Bojay?" Sheba asked in astonishment. "How did I manage to miss these stories?"

"He's exaggerating." The Captain defended himself.

"Not by much." Boomer replied. "I remember the time . . . "

"We should be coming up on Starbuck's last position in a few centons. Stay alert," Bojay reminded them, cutting off Boomer's trip down memory lane. Young and stupid, he had made Starbuck look like a choir boy at times when he was far enough into his cups. He grinned. It had been some of the best times of his life.

"We're not finished here, Bojay. I'm expecting a full report later in the OC, Boomer," Sheba told him. "I'll take the starboard approach."

"Affirmative, Sheba. Wouldn't miss it. I'll take port." Boomer replied.

"Maintaining this heading." Bojay added as they peeled off. The coordinates wouldn't be precise, considering the asteroids were orbiting around the uninhabitable planet they had scanned, but he had been monitoring the variable change as they had advanced on the position. Finding Starbuck's Viper would be like looking for a honest man at a bureautician's convention. He blew out a deep breath, hoping his old friend's somewhat infamous luck was transferable in times of trouble.


	39. Chapter 39

Like a striking Black-Hooded Serpens, the pirates were on Starbuck in a flash, knocking him to the tarmac and pulling at his flight jacket and boots. He simply let them, knowing he had no chance in Hades of stopping them . . . and he'd only get _thumped_ for his trouble. But then he saw it . . .

Looking like a perverted version of a domestic caulking gun, but with a sharp, pointed nodule on the end, and an encapsulated power drive system in between, one look at the Obediator had his mouth as dry as the Borellian deserts.

"What the frack . . .?" Starbuck murmured, changing tack and yanking his arm loose. He punched the closest marauder in the face and twisted back the other way, driving his heel into the chest of another.

"Hey!"

A forearm suddenly slammed against his throat from behind, pulling him backwards and upsetting his balance as he landed supine on the deck. A sharp kick to his ribs on his right, followed by another to his left, had him attempting to curl in a defensive ball, even as several men grabbed his limbs to restrain him further.

"Not quite as effected by the Dynamo as we first thought, eh?" Torg sneered, taking the Obediator in hand. He advanced on the warrior. "You might have wondered by now how we control our prisoners."

"Actually, I was hoping we could skip that whole subject," replied Starbuck, fighting to keep his last meal down, as he struggled to free himself.

"I don't like sass, buster! You'll pay for it!"

"I'm a bit short this secton. Ask me again on payday though."

Starbuck could feel his tunic being pulled up to reveal his abdomen. He jerked sharply to one side, again freeing a limb, but before he could even think about delivering another blow, someone stomped on his upper arm. He cried out in pain.

"Hold him still!"

His limbs were stretched out as though he was on an ancient rack designed for torture. His chest heaved as he tried to unseat the men, who were basically sitting on him, effectively immobilizing him. The cold, sharp point of the Obediator sat against his abdomen. Torg grinned malevolently at him and then pulled the trigger.

It was as if he had been sucker punched by a sledgehammer. His breath was abruptly expelled as the _whomp! _of the weapon resounded. Then, as he lay there in shock, wondering what in Hades had happened, his stomach was suddenly on fire.

The men released him, watching as the warrior curled into a tight ball, a hand over his bloody stomach as he writhed silently in pain. "Holy mother of God, what did you do, Torg? Put it in alive?" Bex asked him.

Torg nodded briefly. "Close enough to it. He'll be singing like a Yellow Warbler within the hour, Bex. Throw him in a hot house until I'm ready for him."

"Aye, sir."

----------

"Bojay, I have a spheroid on my scanner." Sheba informed the captain. "I'm well out of its range, if the information we've received is accurate."

"Relay the coordinates, Sheba. I don't want to destroy it. It would be like sending a signal flare announcing our arrival." Bojay ordered.

"I've got one too." Boomer added. "Relaying coordinates. Anybody see any sign of Starbuck, or a base?"

"Nothing so far." Bojay replied. "I get the feeling they know we're out here, but are lying low."

"Funny, I have the same feeling. Could be they have some kind of energy shield protecting their base, hiding their location." Sheba suggested. It was an instinct honed by yahrens under Cain.

"Sounds like something out of _Star Voyagers_." Boomer replied cynically, remembering the long running Science Fiction series that he knew and loved as a boy.

"I suppose it's possible. Just because we don't have the technology, doesn't mean others can't." Bojay replied.

"Lords, I wish we had more to go on." Boomer muttered, once again pouring over his scanners.

"So do I, Boomer. So do I." Bojay replied, as something caught his attention from the corner of his eye. "Just a centon, I think I've got something . . . "

----------

Apollo strode onto the _Galactica_'s bridge. He had bypassed the Life Station, with a promise to report there as soon as he had an update. After all, the sooner he was cleared for duty, the sooner he could get back to matters at hand.

"Apollo, how are you feeling?" Adama gripped his son by the shoulders, his father's eye quickly assessing and declaring him safe and in one piece.

"Fine, father." Apollo nodded towards his sister. "Any word from the recon patrol?"

"They're still out of communication range, Captain." Tigh informed him.

"We're altering course, taking us further away from the edge of the asteroid belt than we had originally planned." Adama moved to the navigation board, outlining the route. "I don't want any of these marauders coming any closer to the Fleet than they already are."

"Bojay knows?" Apollo asked.

"Yes. We sent an encoded transmission just before they entered the asteroid belt. They'll have plenty of fuel to rendezvous later." Tigh added.

Apollo sighed. "Alright. I have to report to the Life Station. Let me know if . . ."

"Of course, Apollo." Adama assured him as the captain left the bridge.

----------

"What have you got?" Boomer asked, his pulse quickening at the tone of the captain's voice.

"Hold tight." Bojay told him, as he closed in on the conspicuous dark shadow on an otherwise barren, white hunk of rock. His hit his console, activating a composition scan. The readouts were glaringly familiar. "Frack," he said softly.

"What?" Sheba asked.

"I've found a wreck. She's Colonial. I think it's a Viper."

Silence ensued. It seemed to drag on forever, and then . . .

"Are you sure it's Starbuck?" Boomer asked, having a difficult time believing it could be true. There was something about Starbuck that made him seem larger than life . . . or at least he had always imagined it to be so . . .

"Boomer, what other Viper would be out here?" It was the simple but hard truth. Bojay knew it had to be said aloud.

"What's her condition, Bojay?" Sheba asked, needing to hear the details for it to be real.

"Looks like she exploded on impact. I'm reading organic material. Also a spheroid close by. He could have lost control at high speed if he was hit by its blast. " Bojay looked around briefly. It was as if something was missing from the quotient. He expelled a deep breath. "The ship is somewhat intact. I'll attach a line and we'll take what's left of her back to the _Galactica_." He shook his head. Somehow it all seemed too easy, too trivial. Yet it had taken out one of their best warriors. _Sorry, we were too late, Bucko._

"What about the base? I just picked up a large energy reading on my scanner. I must be almost on top of it." Sheba told them. The familiar numbness settled over her emotions, protecting her from the loss she knew would hit her later. Especially when she told Apollo how she had failed to find his best friend in time to help . . .

"Our primary objective was to find Starbuck. We'll report to the Commander about the base." Bojay reminded her. "Now let's bring him home."

----------

Since returning from flying escort for the shuttle that had collected Captain Apollo and his Viper, Ensign Lia had felt restless. At first she had attributed it to Starbuck being missing. Usually, she had every confidence in the lieutenant's abilities, but the anxiety that hung over her like a dark cloud would not disperse, and she couldn't find her sister to discuss it with.

On a whim, she had ducked into the _Galactica_'s small chapel, to offer a prayer for her friend's safe return. It had seemed so strange, so different from the Empyrean place of worship she had grown up with. It had almost made her feel uneasy, enclosed in the small rooms, instead of worshipping out in the open, with nothing but the stars between the deities and their worshippers.

That was when Ama came to mind.

If she closed her eyes, Lia could imagine Ama back on Empyrean, encircled by her followers, and gazing into the heavens as she offered their eternal devotion, and sought guidance in return. She took a couple deep breaths, and could actually smell the scent of blossoms on a warm breeze. She could hear Ama chanting in the tongue of the ancients, so familiar and so revered. She nodded, realizing that it wasn't the chapel that housed the human spirit, it was the body. And it mattered not where one communed with their God. It was then, that the same tranquility that Lia had felt during those services had filtered through her body for just a moment giving her clarity of thought through divine intervention.

She had to find Luana.


	40. Chapter 40

The pain was relentless. At first Starbuck had thought he could struggle through it, but as each centon passed, he became less aware of his surroundings, and more aware of the agony intent on ripping his gut apart.

It became the very core of his existence. Everything else occurred on the periphery, which was just as well. Every extraneous sound, jeer, movement, question, order, demand, or blow, he just ignored. Nothing could penetrate the all consuming, immuring pain.

Time was meaningless. He lost the power of all senses, but that of sensation. He was far removed from anything that didn't grip him by the guts, and squeeze him until every fiber of his being was engulfed in endless, burning torment. Part of him wondered if he had indeed died, and this was, despite all his cynical disregard, his eternal reward...

Then suddenly it stopped.

He felt strangely bereft. Almost like some amazing shield of invincibility had left him, thrusting him back into the fray to a different, possibly even darker reality. He wasn't sure he was quite ready to change thrusters just yet.

"Now, let's try it again. Why did the _Pegasus_ come back and what's her position?" someone barked at him.

Starbuck's eyes were closed. Either that or they had gouged them out while he was curled up in the fetal position in the searing depths of Hades Hole. He blinked twice, slowly registering the gradual clearing of his vision, and then ran a hand across his face, wiping away his sweat soaked hair.

His gaze was drawn to his crimson covered flesh. Blood. _His_ blood. He stared in wonderment at his hand, just centimetrons from his face.

"I told you that you bloody well set the frequency too friggin' high," an angry voice accused. But Starbuck vaguely realized the anger, and the allegation weren't directed at him.

"Hey!" said a sharp voice, just a foul breath away. A sharp jab to his shoulder followed.

Starbuck blinked again, closing his hand into a fist as he glanced up at his tormentors.

"Can you hear me? I asked you a question?" Torg snarled at him, grabbing him by the neck of his tunic as he kneeled beside the beaten warrior. Glazed blue eyes stared back at him indifferently, and then drooped close in exhaustion. "You want me to turn the Obediator back on?" he threatened.

"No . . . " The voice was thick and raspy. He barely recognized it as his own. Slowly, he opened his eyes again.

"Why did your Commander come back?" Torg demanded.

Not a single quip came to mind. Only Dorado's voice echoed through his memory, _Just tell them what they want to know, Bucko._ "Didn't . . . say."

"What were your orders?"

"Find . . . unidentified energy source." He tried to wet his cracked lips, but to no avail.

"Well, you did that, didn't you?" Torg chuckled.

"Why were you alone?" Bex asked suspiciously.

A glimmer of a smile briefly touched Starbuck's lips, as he rolled slightly onto his back finding Bex right in his path, leaning over him. "Wasn't."

"I knew it! Dynamo sixty-six was destroyed. You bloody did it, didn't you? Where's the other ship? The one that it energized?"

"Safe." Starbuck looked Bex in the eye. He liked the anger that was simmering there. It soothed his pain.

"Bastard." Bex spat. "Those ships have some kind of line for pulling things. We haven't figured it out yet." He told Torg, before looking back at the Colonial Warrior. "Now the next thing you're going to do is tell me the coordinates that your friend is sitting at."

"Never." Starbuck whispered, subtly issuing a challenge. Apollo would be safely on the _Galactica_ by then. A set of coordinates, far from the fleet, filtered through his mind again and again like a mantra. When he couldn't take the pain anymore, he would blurt them out, making the pirates think they had torn the information reluctantly from him. They would launch in search of his wing leader, while the _Galactica_ advanced on their base. Hopefully. If the timing was right, it could be perfect. He mentally prepared himself for the next wave of the battle.

"That's what you think." Torg leered, before pulling a small control from his impressive new flight jacket, courtesy of his newest prisoner. _Too bad the boots didn't fit. _ He cranked the dial over hard as he watch the man convulse in pain. Another step closer to breaking him. He would make a suitable worker in the tunnels.

If he survived.

----------

Finding Luana was proving to be more difficult than Lia had first thought. No one in the billet had seen her, since she had briefly appeared for a turbo-wash and a change of uniform that morning. In a manner totally unlike the vibrant, vivacious young woman, Luana had been curiously quiet and unforthcoming with her plans for the day.

"She said something about going to see a man about a daggit." Brie had told Lia.

"Wonderful."

The daggit was as elusive as the sister. Lia scoured the Battlestar to no avail. Finally, she checked in at the transport station, realizing Lu must have gone elsewhere.

"Yes, Ensign?" The young man smiled pleasantly as he looked up from his work station.

"I'm trying to locate a warrior who I suspect has taken a transport. I know it isn't exactly protocol, but she's my sister, and I really need to find her. Family emergency." Lia explained, somewhat creatively.

"I see." The clerk replied. "I could just cross reference your ID numbers to verify that, if you have hers as well, Ensign . . . ?"

"Lia." She smiled warmly. "Thanks, I appreciate you taking the time."

"I'm here to help." He shrugged it off. "What's your number?"

"544 987 454." Lia replied. If it wasn't for the inexplicable urgency she was feeling about locating Lu, she might have noticed how he kept glancing up at her as he waited for his computer to access her information.

"And your sister's?"

"544 987 455."

"Of course." He nodded, noting the chronological order. Obviously, Lia was the elder sister. He watched the computer verify their relationship, and hoping that the attractive young women would remember his kindness when she had dealt with her family emergency, he checked the transportation records.

"Here she is. She took the 0800 shuttle to the _Malocchio_ this morning. There's no record of her return, or any other flip she might have jumped."

"Flip?"

"Trip. Transport." He smiled. He glanced down at his screen again. "The next shuttle bound for the _Malocchio_ leaves in forty-five centons from Beta Bay. It's a puddle jumper though. It stops on six other ships before it reaches the Empyrean Freighter."

"A pud . . ." She stopped, confused.

"Sorry. Slang from my home province in the Colonies. It doesn't go directly there, but makes numerous stops along the way."

"I see. I guess I need to work on the colloquialisms among the warriors. "Thanks again for your help." Lia told him.

"Tivon."

"Sorry?"

"Tivon. That's my name, Ensign Lia." He grinned at her, as a slight blush crept over her lovely features. .

"Oh, right. Well, thanks again."

"Any time."

----------

Apollo stood stoically by, as the three Vipers landed in Alpha Bay. Bojay had released the wrecked Viper on his approach, and the crew had done the rest. The grapple arm slowly and methodically maneuvered the remains of the once powerful fighter, almost cradling it in its safe delivery to the landing bay. It was crumpled from underneath, with the nose caved in, the left engine torn away, and the canopy blown outwards by the final explosion. It was so bad, he couldn't even see any of the ship or squadron markings on her. _Lords, I hope it was quick._

Now, he stood by letting the appropriate medical and technical crews get to work to verify what they already knew. Starbuck was . . . dead.

It just didn't seem possible. How could someone who was so full of life . . . ? He shook his head and watched as the medical crew moved in on the blackened and sooty wreckage. In what remained of the cockpit, he could see a blackened, twisted form. The last remains . . .

"Apollo."

A soft voice, and a gentle hand on his arm. He turned from where he watched the proceedings.

"I'm so sorry, Apollo. We were too late." Sheba told him. She had held it together fairly well until she saw the anguish in his expressive green eyes. Her eyes immediately filled with tears, and she watched him blink back his own, as his arms embraced her, pulling her to him.

"It's not your fault," Apollo whispered, his lips lightly brushing her hair. He had already replayed the mission over in his head a hundred times, trying to figure out where they had gone wrong. What mistake they had made. _Why Starbuck? Why did you have to go back without backup?_

_ Because you have people who need you, _he could almost hear his friend's reply. _The Commander needs his son. Boxey needs his dad. Athena needs her brother. Sheba needs her man. It's that simple, buddy._

"It's not _anybody's_ fault." Boomer squeezed the captain's shoulder. "And Starbuck wouldn't want us to be standing here trying to ascribe blame."

"No, he'd want us lifting a tankard in the Officer's Club, regaling each other with stories of his exploits." Bojay joined them.

"Real _and_ imagined." Apollo added with a faint smile.

Sheba straightened her shoulders, and wiped her eyes. "You're right. That's exactly what he'd want."

Boomer nodded his approval. "One drink." He could do it for Starbuck. Grieving could be done in private later.

----------

"It seems wrong somehow." Tigh murmured aside to Adama. "An indignity to Starbuck's memory."

"I know how you feel, old friend." Adama nodded, as he looked away from the charred remains of the celebrated warrior on the examination table in the Life Station. The corpse was more or less complete, but the explosion and brief fire had done their work. The uniform was almost entirely gone, and what remained of the skin and soft tissues was charred a deep black. Ribs protruded from the chest, and the empty eye sockets seemed to stare up at them mournfully. The jaw was open, as if still crying out in the final moment of agony. Doctors Salik and Paye were preparing to conduct an exhaustive post-mortem. "Still, Starbuck was always pragmatic. I think he'd understand our need to find out what happened. Anything that helps us more thoroughly understand the effect of the spheroid on the Human body, will be an asset if we come in contact with any more of them." Along the same line of thought, Dr. Wilker and his staff would be dissecting what was left of the Viper, trying to get more information on the nature of the mechanical failure following the blast, and comparing it to the data from Apollo's affected fighter.

"If?" Asked the Colonel. "What about Bojay's report? Sheba relayed the most recent coordinates for the base."

"Tigh, you know as well as I that the only rationale for attacking their base at this point is revenge. I'm not prepared to potentially lose more pilots to avenge Starbuck's memory. Not when it could potentially endanger the entire Fleet. We don't know the extent of their forces."

Tigh nodded, his gaze morbidly drawn to the table. Once again, they were forced to make a decision based on the harsh reality of their situation. Their priority was the safe conduct of over two hundred ships, carrying what was left of Humanity in their Star System. Gone were the days when they could match an enemy blow for blow. "I understand, Commander."

"As do I." Adama squeezed his shoulder. "It's a bitter pill to swallow."

"Yes, Adama. It certainly is."


	41. Chapter 41

Lia's feeling of unease increased as she walked through the _Malocchio_'s corridors to Ama's quarters. A few people she had seen had spotted Luana earlier, in the company of Oriana. Coincidentally, the woman Starbuck and Lu had rescued on the _Galactica_'s triad court was also Empyrean, and now worked on the Battlestar as a sanitation tech. At least it was news to her. Where the women had gone, or even what they were doing together, Lia didn't know. Unfortunately, so far neither did anyone else.

Lia activated the entry chime, and waited until the door swung inward. She stepped into the dimly lit rooms.

"By the Goddess Triquetra, you've taken your time getting here." Ama blurted. "What took you so long?"

"Ama, what are you talking about?" Lia asked, uncomfortable with the necromancer's agitation.

"Luana is missing. So is Starbuck. They need help."

"How do you . . . ?" She paused as Ama glared at her. "Sorry. I know about Starbuck. Bojay's patrol is trying to locate him. I . . . had a feeling about Lu. I've been trying to find her. She came over here this morning with Oriana. I can't figure out where they went to though."

"Bojay's patrol is back. Starbuck is not." Ama told her with certainty.

"They didn't find him." Lia muttered in disbelief. She hadn't heard that they had returned yet, but then again, she was only an ensign and wouldn't necessarily be privy to the news. Still, Apollo knew that Starbuck was like family to her and Lu. Especially Lu. "But, surely Apollo will . . . "

"Not if he believes his friend is dead."

"What are you saying?"

"I don't know the details." Ama shook her head angrily. "You'd best ask your captain why he's leaving his friend out there to rot."

"Apollo wouldn't do that."

"Then he can explain himself. Take me to him. Then we can also begin a search for Luana."

"But she's supposed to be on the _Malocchio._ Why would we go back to the _Galactica_ to begin a search when we're already here?"

"Because Colonial Security refuses to believe she's missing. They say she has to be unaccounted for for twenty-four centars before she's _officially_ missing. Seems to me that they're just lazy daggits. Kella and some of the other Empyrean Guard are out looking for her, but as yet . . . " She trailed off.

"Ama, tell me what you're sensing." She put a hand on her godmother's arm to still her. "I trust in your instincts. Your abilities. You _know_ that."

Ama studied her eldest goddaughter. As always, there was nothing but sincerity within her brown eyes. The girl had always had faith. Unlike her younger sister, she had never seemed to doubt the true path. But then, Lia had some abilities that she had chosen not to explore or nurture as she should have. . . "Luana is in mortal danger. Starbuck . . . he's alive, but too far away for me to read with any accuracy. I can't sense Oriana at all, but I believe when I try to reach her spirit, it will speak to me from another dimension." She turned away in distress and frustration. "I've sent Oriana to an early demise, and possibly Luana too. Hades, how did Luana even get involved in this? I tried to keep her otherwise occupied."

Lia gently turned Ama towards her. "Lu follows her own path. You know that. If you tried to keep her out of something, she would fight all the harder to plunge headlong into it. Now tell me everything that you know, so I can help."

"Lia . . . "

"Ama, you can't control and manipulate people all the time. It doesn't always go to plan. Only the Gods have the true wisdom and infinite knowledge to guide us." Her eyes met her godmother's seeing the obvious pain reflected on the withered features. Suddenly, the necromancer looked aged beyond her yahrens.

Perhaps it was a message from the Goddess Triquetra herself. Ama had gone too far, trying to outmaneuver or guide the fates. She had taken her role as Necromancer too far, trying to step beyond her limitations, betraying the trust of her people and the Divine. An abject lesson in humility was her punishment. "I have confused my own ego with Divine Right. And I can do nothing about it except ask for help."

"Then let's go speak with the Captain." Lia told her. "If anyone can help us, he can."

----------

Starbuck's pain had receded to a dull ache. His award for a job well done, according to Bex.

"It's very simple. Do as we say: no pain. Disobey: pain." Bex explained as he shoved the warrior ahead of him. "The others will explain your duties on the work gang. Meet your daily quota: no pain. Fail: pain." He chuckled as the man stumbled, quickly regaining his balance. "I should also mention if you fail to meet your quota, the rest of your gang will also be punished. It helps inspire motivation, you might say. A real team spirit." The odious man laughed, clearly enjoying the prospect.

The temperature change had been drastic, plummeting as Starbuck entered the tunnels from the rooms referred to as 'the hot house". His memory regarding how he had arrived at the hot house was vague, and he had been disoriented as to where it was in relationship to the hangar. Alternatively, he was etching the path from the hot house to the work tunnels into his mind, like a patrol route, in particular noting what was obviously a control room situated not far from his humid starting point.

Bex finally stopped at the room, muttering something about deactivating the master cyclatron in ten minutes--a time unit he hadn't heard used since Terra--to the sole occupant who had been gazing with disinterest over data banks and computers. His responsibilities seemed to be the monitoring of the flashing lights with the occasional adjustment of knobs or dials. Frankly, it had boggled the warrior's mind as he stared with interest past Bex, trying to make sense of the numerous systems. Everything had looked so . . . antiquated.

Torg had rushed off to try and find Apollo, based on Starbuck's divulgences under duress. The pirate didn't have a hope in Hades Hole, of course, going in the wrong direction, as well as being far too late. Starbuck imagined he might pay for his little deception later, if there wasn't a rescue party on the way, but he could always plead ignorance.

Ignorance had been a fine defense when Torg had grilled him on Cain's motivations and plans. Torg had come away thinking that Starbuck was just another lowly warrior who knew little of his Commander's schemes . . . which wasn't that far off the truth in most military situations, and therefore, easily believable. Certainly when it came to Cain.

The art of deception; the most believable lies always utilized an element of truth.

The Dynamos were likely monitored and regulated through one of the systems he had seen in the control room. He wasn't sure what a _cyclatron_ was, beyond the literal implications of the word itself, something that "cycles". But it was doubtlessly another regulated system. Environmental control had to be included on that control board as well. Enormous and noisy air exchange systems were positioned throughout what he had seen of their base. Again, they appeared dated, but functional.

Strangely, there was a decided lack of guards between the control room and the tunnels. So far, they hadn't come across a soul. Starbuck couldn't help but think it would be easy to make his way back to try to disable the Dynamos. _Too_ easy. There was a piece missing from this particular puzzle.

"Hold up." Bex ordered him, checking his chronometer. "Just a sec."

"A what?" Starbuck asked.

"Sec." Bex replied with a grin, shaking his head. "You Colonials and your units of time. Friggin' weird, if you ask me."

Starbuck shrugged, looking around and spotting large conductor units far above the ground. "What are those for?"

"You really want to know?" Bex smiled evilly.

"Uh . . . " Now he wasn't so sure. He took a step back, as the pirate pulled a knife from his belt. "Actually, I'm fine not knowing. Too much information in one day just isn't good for a guy whose been blasted by Dynamos and Obediators."

Bex advanced on him with a laugh. "You know, if you weren't one of the bad guys, I might actually grow to like you."

"_I'm_ one of the bad guys?" Starbuck asked incredulously. "_You're_ the pirate, pal."

"I prefer the term . . . _buccaneer_." Bex smiled. "It's so much more . . . colourful. Don't you think?" His eyes flickered to either side of the warrior as he suddenly lunged forward, slashing from right to left.

Starbuck leapt back out of reach, only to be knocked off his feet with the abrupt eruption of pain to his abdomen. He crumpled to the ground, the breath knocked from him, and doubled over holding his stomach, as the bile rose in his throat.

"Three, two, one." Bex counted down, again looking at his chrono.

It stopped.

Starbuck gasped for air, as Bex kneeled down before him. The pirate tucked the blade beneath his chin, coaxing it up, forcing the warrior to look in his cold, grey eyes.

"The Zone is about three hundred feet long. Try and pass through it, and . . ." He laughed. "Well, I think you get the idea."

Starbuck swallowed the acrid fluid that was burning his throat. No guards . . . because there was no frackin' need for them. That left only one alternative. He hoped he could find Dorado.

----------

It was just a job. As disagreeable as it was, the identification of the wrecked Viper was necessary to officially close the personnel file on the infamous Lieutenant Starbuck.

Well, apparently there would be no triad game that evening.

Oron drew a deep breath and once again tried to reach the twisted, charred piece of metal that would confirm the serial number of the dead warrior's fighter. Stamped beneath the left wing prior to assembly, it was practically indistinguishable to the naked eye. Why they didn't just paint it on the fuselage or the vertical tail as they had in the old days, he'd never understand. Some desire for anonymity? Uniformity? Saving money on paint? Who knew? In retrospect, the charred hunk of metal would have told few tales at a glance. The more senior members of the crew were already cutting up the ship and removing the pertinent parts for Dr. Wilker and his science team to analyze. As the junior member of the ground crew, he was the poor schlub who was assigned the grunt work.

He had already severed the applicable part from the rest of the frame, thanking his lucky stars that at least he wasn't a part of the team that had had to remove the ghastly remains of the pilot from the twisted cockpit. Now, he only had to retrieve the piece from where it had accidentally fallen, and pull it through the wreckage, which strangely enough seemed to be akin to sucking a Battlestar through a straw.

"You done yet, Oron?"

"Almost." He reassured his superior, avoiding Jenny's piercing glance. She had known the lieutenant. Known him a long time. She was not taking it at all well, especially since she had personally overseen the loading of his bird in the launch bay, and its preparation before takeoff. Oron knew that if she considered it necessary, she would personally dissect the fighter, searching for a mechanical answer to its destruction. Perhaps in that way, she might finally ease the guilt that it had been something that she had overlooked.

He retrieved the part, and finally pulled it free. His fingertips could palpate the markings as he wiped the grime from the metal. Before he could even look past the first two digits, she had grabbed it from his grip.

"Blessed Lords of Kobol . . . " Jenny muttered as she stared at the number. It didn't match. It _wasn't_ Starbuck's Viper. But then whose? Her mind clicked over the endless lists of serial numbers on the _Galactica_. She was positive this fighter wasn't one of theirs. How could it be? There weren't any other missing ships. Or were there? Was command holding back something? That wasn't like Adama.

She needed a database to even begin to identify the corresponding digits, if the records even still had that superfluous information in the databanks. The base number, which corresponded to the fiscal yahren in which the aircraft's manufacture was authorized, showed the fighter to be only four yahrens old. Relatively new in the scheme of things. The ensuing sequence number showed it to be one of the first off the assembly line, number seventeen in fact, and where it was built, but still, she had no idea what _this _Viper was doing out there. Unless . . . _Whooooa, girl!_

They had rebuilt a few ships, since fleeing the Colonies, with spares from ship's stores, wrecks, pieces manufactured on the foundry ship, even parts from some _Pegasus_ fighters. She had better be sure, before she dragged the Commander back to the bridge. She reached back into the charred ship, fishing around the underside of the burnt seat. After a few moments, she pulled a small plate free from the chassis. Like the serial number under the wing, this one denoted the yahren of manufacture, the factory, and the unit number. She looked at them. They matched.

_Yes!_

"I'll be on the bridge if I'm needed." Jenny snapped, turning sharply and breaking into a run. Unlike the previous centar, hope now pounded furiously in her chest. Sagan's sake, the possibilities were astounding. Not only that, but on a more personal level, Starbuck could still be alive!

----------

Darkness, pain, and an overwhelming sense of hopelessness greeted her return to sensibility.

Just when she thought she had faced the epitome of life's little challenges, the Gods had a habit of kicking Luana in the teeth with turbo-charged boots, just to remind her who was really in charge of her destiny.

Some goon with a knife and a laser blaster. At least for the moment.

She couldn't see a blessed thing and she rubbed her head against the cold deck to try and displace the blindfold, her limbs still securely bound behind her. It was soon apparent that the cloth over her eyes covered her entire head. The only fortunate thing about that was it possibly decreased the faint, but horrible odour coming from . . .

The Waste Recycling Center.

Clarity hit her hard. Where else would one get rid of a body without a trace? The thorough process that virtually expunged the collective human waste of the _Malocchio Freighter_ could also effectively obliterate any evidence of Oriana's body. But that was assuming she was still on the _Malocchio_. She realized that wasn't necessarily the case. After all, Borka could have easily pushed her around in that trunk, moving her anywhere a roving Archimagus might entertain the masses.

A cold shiver ran through her when Lu realized the process would ultimately be her end. She struggled against her bonds once again, flexing and twisting her wrists in a desperate attempt to loosen the cords that refused to budge. She fought hard for several long centons before realizing it was futile. If anything, the cords seemed to be tightening.

_Deep breaths, Lu. Assess your situation._ _Use your senses. _The constant hum of the recycling equipment seemed to be her only companion, and despite her fear and pain, the thought was almost reassuring. Something must have interrupted Borka's plan for her premature demise.

She remembered him cutting her throat, and had waited for the breathlessness she was certain would come when he perforated her windpipe. Only it hadn't happened. At the last millicenton, Borka had decreased the pressure, slicing through her flesh, but not killing her as she had expected.

Not that she was complaining.

A guttural cry of human despair had followed, and then a blow to the back of her skull. Nothingness.

What had happened?

Well, as entertaining as the conundrum was, it was hardly her first priority. She made a mental note to search every corner of the Fleet to find the precise answer to that particular mystery, _when_ and _if_ she escaped in one piece. Until then . . .

She began wriggling her way across the surface, attempting to discern any barriers enclosing her, besides the obvious restraints. She tried to remember the number one rule of survival: never give up. The mental fight was just as important as the physical. At times like this, it was more important.

_Thud._

By the feel of the lump that at that moment must have been rising up from her skull, she had just found the first wall. Perhaps a little less forward momentum and a bit more caution was in order. _Now that's using your head, Lu._ She smiled, imagining Starbuck making the quip with his trademark grin and that twinkle in his eyes. He should be back from patrol by now. He'd tear the fleet apart looking for her. He'd know something was up. For sure.

_Just keep telling yourself that, Lu._


	42. Chapter 42

Forensic abstracts. While hardly the most sought after task in the medical profession, it was nonetheless fascinating. At least to the physician.

Dr. Paye had to give Cassiopeia credit. It was only one brief sentence which cost her dearly, as her eyes welled with tears before turning to flee the Life Center. Still, it was all the information he needed to begin the most expedient tissue extraction to confirm the identity of the deceased pilot.

"We have an image of one of Lieutenant . . . Starbuck's neuro cells on record."

Paye vaguely recalled the instance where they had retrieved the neuro cell image to compare with a man who might have been related to the lieutenant. He didn't recall the outcome, at the time thinking it a waste of resources. However, rules were occasionally bent and the lieutenant had certainly come through for them when they had gone against Council orders, and returned five Humans to their ship en route to the planet Paradeen some sectons later.

He maneuvered the laser extractor through a fissure in the charred skull with a skilled and steady hand, removing a tiny specimen of brain cortex. The high molecular weight DNA of that particular tissue could be successfully extracted regardless of postmortem age, which was certainly a benefit considering the horrendous condition of the cadaver.

Flash fried in the cockpit. Like a spudon chip. What a way to go. At least it would have been quick.

A careful application of the specimen to the slide, followed by its insertion into the Deoxyribonucleic Acid Correlating Analyzer. Imagine, there had actually been a time when they would have gazed through a microscope and tediously compared gene sequences! Base pair after tedious base pair. Thanks to modern science, those days were long gone.

A few more centons and he could officially close the chart on Lieutenant Starbuck. Paye watched as the sequences came up. _C-T-T-A-G-C-G-A-T-G-G..._He unconsciously mouthed the letters, as the computer assembled the data. His eyes narrowed in concentration when it became apparent . . .

"That can't be right," he muttered, and popped the sample from the machine. He double-checked the numbers, then returned it to the analyzer. Again, the nucleotides lined up, and again, he saw that they didn't match. He once more checked his results, using his own DNA as a control, before turning to the comm.

"Bridge?"

"Bridge. Colonel Tigh here."

"Colonel, this is Doctor Paye. I need to speak with Commander Adama."

----------

Though a drink in the OC was a tradition to bid farewell to a friend and comrade, the mood was strained as Apollo had tried to parlay into a few sentences words worthy enough to convey the profound respect and affection he held for a man whom he had known since their Academy days. He could see in Boomer's eyes that it was just as difficult for the lieutenant. Ironically, it was Starbuck's banter that usually helped them through these situations, as he ensured the ale kept flowing while he said goodbye in his own way, through the telling of tales that somehow turned a difficult situation into a pleasant trip down memory lane.

Of course, the formal service would come later. After the body was officially identified.

Starbuck had once told Apollo that the funeral services were the worst part of death. He could almost come to terms with losing a friend when their death was honourable and had some kind of meaning. That of protecting humanity from their ancient enemy. But 'filling a room with grieving people' had always unsettled him in a way he couldn't explain. He would find himself shifting from foot to foot, just wanting it to be over. Not wanting to dwell on the loss, but to move on.

In contrast, Apollo had appreciated the timeless honour afforded each fallen Colonial Warrior. An institution whereby command and servicemen came together to commemorate the ultimate sacrifice—the selfless giving of life. It was a proper end to the Chapter of Life, and necessary for those that were left behind to fight another day.

In keeping with Boomer's words in the landing bay, Apollo had stayed in the Officer's Club for just one drink, and then returned to his quarters. He now had to tell Boxey that Starbuck wouldn't be coming back. The boy had already suffered the ultimate loss, that of his mother. In his heart Apollo knew that children had an amazing resilience, and that the young boy would soon bounce back from this loss as well. Even so, the initial shock . . . He sighed, knowing he had to retrieve his son from the woman who normally cared for him while the captain was on duty. She was a godsend, having a son in the same class as Boxey, and was more than willing to take on another child to help entertain her own for a few extra cubits in her pocket per secton.

As he stood to go, his entry chime signaled the arrival of company. His first thought was that Boxey had been delivered to him early, so it was with surprise that he opened the door to discover Ensign Lia and the Imperial Necromancer standing there.

"Explain yourself, Captain." Ama demanded, stepping past the warrior and entering his quarters. She looked around briefly before taking a seat, letting him know she wasn't going anywhere until he satisfied her enquiry.

"Excuse me?" Apollo murmured, looking to Lia. The young woman looked distraught. He shook his head as he realized she would have learned of Starbuck's death second hand. "Lia, I'm sorry. I should have told you myself. Should have found you . . ."

"No," Lia grasped his hand, stopping his apology. "You don't understand. Starbuck's _not_ dead, Apollo."

Normally, Lia was the sensible one. It was Luana who would be more likely to fly off the handle and react emotionally. _Lords, Luana._ He should have made it a priority to track her down and let her know. Whether or not the betrothal was genuine, she cared deeply for Starbuck. He had let his emotional need sweep him away to the OC, however briefly, to commiserate with his friends about his own loss.

"Lia . . . " Apollo took hold of both her hands, squeezing them gently. He could feel Ama's eyes boring into the back of his skull. "I saw his ship . . . his body . . . he_ is _dead."

"Don't be daft, Captain. He's no more dead than you are." Ama snapped. "I don't know whose ship you've found, but it's not my Starbuck's."

Apollo wasn't sure what he had expected, but it certainly wasn't the undisputable denial that these two were sharing with him. If it was only Lia, he could have had a rational conversation with her, and convinced her to accept the truth, but Ama . . . Lords, it was like trying to reason with a wild, hungry, injured felix . . . in labour . . . under water . . .

"Apollo, that's not all. Luana's missing. I think she's in danger. Ama told me that Oriana—the woman that Starbuck and Luana rescued on the triad court . . ." Lia watched Apollo's eyes narrow in concentration, and the faint nod that indicated he did indeed know who she was referring to. "Well, she was actually a freelance journalist, trying to get to the bottom of who was setting up Starbuck during his triad games, not to mention how. Lu decided to get involved. They both disappeared on the _Malocchio_ this morning."

It was almost a relief. A distraction from Starbuck's untimely demise. Apollo could focus on finding Luana and Oriana, and get his teeth into solving the riddle that had ended with Starbuck being publicly accused of throwing games by Sire Dracus of the Council of Twelve. Perhaps they could at least clear Starbuck's reputation of that particular blemish. "Go on, Lia." He encouraged her, needing to hear all the details before he could take action accordingly.

----------

If it didn't hurt, it probably didn't belong to him.

It would be an understatement to say that things hadn't exactly gone to plan. But then, all the best plans had to leave room to deal with unforeseen circumstances.

Not in a million yahrens would Starbuck have thought he'd end up on a small work gang of four Humans, including himself, where no one spoke a word of Colonial Standard. What he wouldn't do for a languatron . . . not to mention a nice, tall tankard of Empyrean Ale. Of course, a pulse-blast rifle to use on his tormentors and an escape route out of here wouldn't be sneered at either.

If his mouth was any drier, sand fleas would take up residency in it. Every muscle in his body ached from spending long centars digging up and hacking with stone tools the prickly, brittle roots which apparently fed this colony. His hands were a bloody mess from handling the questionable food source, and his feet were killing him from walking barefoot through the shallow, fetid liquid where the roots were dominant, resulting in numerous cuts and abrasions.

At first he had been a reluctant participant. But Bex was correct in assuming the rest of the gang would teach the newest lackey the ropes before he dragged down their daily quota, and brought the wrath of the Obediator down upon them. They had muttered incomprehensibly at him, repeatedly demonstrating the routine and placing him none too gently in front of the appropriate plant parts until he too was engaging in the gathering of sustenance.

When they had finally ceased their efforts and started trudging back up into the tunnels from the work pit, indicating that he should follow, and smacking him on the back in recognition for his efforts, he was just about ready to keel over and collapse on the spot. Instead, he wearily picked his way, rising above the incessant dampness and numbing cold that had affected his body as he tried to memorize the route. Fatigue, pain, thirst and hunger all conspired against him, as he found his mind wandering and his eyes half closing while his body switched over to autopilot and he followed in their wake.

The other men all continually chewed and spat out bits of the sinewy root, as they had while working. It seemed to be a constant process. One of them handed a piece of the root to Starbuck, nudging him to get his attention.

"Koivee." He looked to be a good twenty or thirty yahrens older than the lieutenant with an identical uniform to his peers of tattered clothes, unkempt grey hair, and heavily callused hands. It was unsettling that Starbuck could no longer detect the foul body odour that had hung on all the men when he had first joined them. The man took a bite of his own peeled stalk and demonstrated with exaggerated motions how he chewed it thoroughly. He then noisily spat out the remaining plant fiber and rubbed his stomach as if he had just eaten an unsurpassed dish of Pisceran Squab in a heavenly sweet sauce.

Looking down at the moist, greenish root with what Starbuck was certain was mould clinging to the outside, it hardly seemed worth the effort. Especially as another new cut opened beneath his fingernail as he tried to peel the brittle outer coating from the yellow flesh within. "Frack." He sucked on his finger, the bitter taste of Koivee reminiscent to something the matrons from the orphanages used to clean the floors . . . or the sassy mouths of errant youngsters. He had never developed a taste for it, oddly enough.

The root was pulled back from his hand, and within microns was expertly peeled by his tutor with another stone implement. If Starbuck was going to pull his weight, he would have to learn their ways as soon as possible. The man thrust it back in his hand and encouraged him to take a bite.

With a reluctant sigh, Starbuck did so. "Dear Lord . . . "

With a constant acrid, pungent infusion of the likes of Koivee, no wonder such a vile and despicable people inhabited this asteroid. In fact, he could imagine the most venerable of men becoming serial killers after ingesting enough of the rot. Starbuck's eyes watered and tears poured down his cheeks as he spat the offensive substance from his mouth. It was like inhaling ammonium ions, and it took his breath away.

His new friend laughed at his antics, slapping him on the back. "Good." He grinned. "If hunger. _Very_ hunger."

"You speak . . . Standard?" Starbuck sputtered, rubbing his throat to ensure it was still intact from the astringent that he had involuntarily swallowed . . . or inhaled. He wasn't sure which. The enamel had surely peeled off his teeth by now.

The man shrugged holding up his thumb and forefinger, indicating a small measure. "Little."

"And you didn't think to mention it earlier, when I asked?" Starbuck glowered at him.

"No understand," the man replied with an indifferent shrug. "Come." He slapped Starbuck on the back once again, and strode ahead towards what appeared to be a shelter of some kind.

It was primitive by any standards, looking much like a mud hut with a single door fashioned out of dried root fibers. No other openings were apparent as Starbuck followed the others to the entrance, watching them disappear inside.

"Come!" The now familiar voice rang out again, inviting him beyond the threshold. The air within was much warmer, and a slightly sweet aroma filled the area.

Starbuck pushed the door—actually, it was more like a stiff curtain—aside, pausing to take it all in. While the room wasn't particularly large, along the perimeter were a series of pits that were emitting the heat _and_ the aroma. A faint glow from burning embers dimly lit the room. The men settled down on Service style cots, several more were empty and awaiting their usual occupants.

But it was the walls that really struck him. They were covered with diagrams, drawings and some unusual script. Once again the strange white ship with black trim that he had seen in the hangar tweaked his elusive memory, as he stared at its faded copy roughly drawn on the wall. The same standard, foreign, yet somehow familiar, on its fuselage. Even the star system . . . Where the frack did he know it all from? His heart seemed to skip a beat.

_Proteus_.

His _cozy_ little cell on the penal colony. That was it. Not only had he seen the drawings of the solar system that Commander Adama had suspected represented Earth's system of planets, but _that _ship and _that_ standard, had been among many other drawings covering the dour walls.

Lords, what did it mean? Could they be nearing Earth? He exhaled sharply. Yeah, he just might be off the hook for this whole debacle if he could not only reveal that the _Pegasus_ was still out there, but that Earth was just a hop, skip and a jump away. He smiled. Hades, he might even get decorated! Of course, he might be jumping the gun a bit. After all, there was still his little problem with the space pirates.

"Earth?" Starbuck asked anyone who wasn't tearing into another repulsive piece of Koivee with gusto, as he pointed to the star system illustrated on the wall.

The men abruptly stopped their meal, staring at the Colonial Warrior, and then muttering excitably amongst themselves.

"Was it something I said?" he asked.

One of them laughed, but probably not in response to Starbuck's words, while another stooped down, grabbing a handful of dirt from the naturally surfaced "floor". He walked towards Starbuck, seizing his hand and letting the dirt filter between his fingers into the warrior's palm. "Earth," he smiled, nodding between the lieutenant and the third planet in the system on the wall. He then patted himself on the chest and motioned to the others. "Earth."


	43. Chapter 43

It seemed only natural to Apollo to enlist Boomer's assistance in the search for Luana. They soon found the lieutenant in the billet, and Boomer had nodded soberly as Lia filled him in on the details of the young ensign's disappearance along with the undercover journalist's. Ama hovered close by letting Lia do the talking, too agitated by the lack of progress to say anything remotely helpful. Both warriors had realized they needed more evidence than the strong sense of an Empyrean necromancer before Security would take them seriously.

"Unless Ama wants to threaten to turn Reece into a porcine again," Boomer suggested with a faint smile, recalling Starbuck's highly amusing tale of the event.

"_Just_ threaten?" Ama had returned. "Now, don't misunderstand me, gentlemen. I'm pleased you're assisting us with finding Luana, but what about Starbuck? It seems you're taking me about as seriously as a dawdling, demented old fool. We're wasting time here, dear hearts. And frankly, I'm beginning to lose my patience."

Boomer gave Apollo a look which clearly said, _you deal with it. You're the Captain._

"Ama. As we speak, they're performing an autopsy on Starbuck . . . " Ama's sudden glare could have melted a small child. " . . . uh, the body, as well as confirming that the Viper_ is _his ship. If you're correct, we'll know soon enough, and we'll be able to act accordingly."

"Then you _will_ act?" Ama asked, hands upon her ample hips.

"If Starbuck is alive, I'll do everything I possibly can to find him and bring him back. I give you my word." Apollo replied, for the first time feeling a stir of hope that perhaps the necromancer was right. As Starbuck always told him, as crazy as the old crone appeared to be, she was usually right on the cubits when she made a prediction. Hades, if _Starbuck_ believed it . . .

The first step in tracing Luana had seemed obvious. Investigate Oriana's quarters. Despite the short amount of time Apollo had been married to Serina, he knew that every journalist kept records of their data collection. Serina had a series of data crystals which he had kept, the sound of her voice had brought both pain and pleasure as he replayed them, probably a little too often, after initially losing her. He realized it had been some time now since they had crossed his mind, but he would keep them for Boxey until the boy was old enough to be responsible for their care and to treasure them as a lasting link to his mother.

Apollo had quickly acquired the location and access code, and shortly thereafter they were standing in Oriana's tiny quarters, witnesses to the complete destruction that had hit. The place had been torn apart.

Most notably, Oriana's computer lay in a crumpled heap on the opposite end of the room from the workstation. Drawers were pulled out, furniture upended, and a distinct dent in the wall where the computer had impacted against the wall, all contributed to the disarray.

"Boomer, call Security. This is all the evidence we need to prove something's going on." Apollo instructed him as he headed for the computer. Obviously someone else was after Oriana's records, probably trying to erase the data trail. Now, what he needed was someone with the necessary computer smarts to retrieve any information that had been erased.

----------

"Thank you Dr. Paye. Keep me posted." Commander Adama signed off from the command center of the bridge. The dead pilot wasn't Starbuck. Further to that, Paye now suspected the postmortem age of the corpse was _at least _three sectars. So the questions were, who was it, and where had he come from? Paye needed to do more research to find out.

The _Pegasus_. It _had_ to be the _Pegasus_.

Adama smiled slightly as he felt Tigh's intent stare upon him from the lower deck. They had discussed this topic extensively, though almost always in private. What_ had _happened to the _Pegasus_?

The Battlestar's disappearance had, even with the scanner data from Apollo and Starbuck's Vipers, been inconclusive. They could assume she was destroyed as she took on the three Cylon base ships single-handedly and without fighters, but Adama had learned long ago never to assume _anything_ if Cain was involved.

He recalled Starbuck telling Sheba in the Life Station, that as far as he was concerned, Cain had headed off into deep space once again. Adama thought that was closer to the truth. Cain had destroyed the base ships protecting Baltar's position, and had then, under the cover of extensive radion and battle debris, escaped to fight another day.

It had been sectars since they had last encountered the Cylons. It felt at times as though the Fleet had a guardian angel watching over them. Tigh had suspected that angel was Cain; though Adama had trouble picturing an angel wearing gold brocade, duel pistols, and carrying a swagger stick.

Realistically, it was the one way Cain could continue to battle the Cylons, and in the meantime support his people on his own terms. Adama had relieved him of command once, and almost twice, finally giving his reluctant blessing to the man who had an amazing knack for achieving the impossible.

"Commander Adama!"

Adama turned to see Chief Warrant Officer Jenny enter the bridge on the double. In her hand she held a warped piece of metal. No doubt she was about to tell him it wasn't Starbuck's Viper they had found.

Adama nodded, beckoning her forward. "Report."

"The serial numbers don't match Lieutenant Starbuck's fighter, sir. Or any of our ships for that matter." Jenny held the metal plate before her like a prize as she approached.

"Have you run a check to find a match?" Colonel Tigh asked briskly, walking to meet her. _Finally, a chance to find out conclusively if the Juggernaut had survived._

"No, Sir. I only have access to the _Galactica_'s records." Jenny explained handing the plates over to Tigh's outstretched hand. "I wasn't certain if we still had the data to cross reference any other ships' squadrons. And I don't have the authorization codes for that anyway."

"Tigh."

The Colonel was already at the computer terminal inputting the data. "Assigned to the Battlecruiser _Cygnus_ four yahrens ago, Commander. Rapier Squadron"

"The _Cygnus_?" Adama repeated, trying to recall the vessel. The _Cygnus_ had been state of the art technology, her speed and maneuverability second to none. Her history and battle record had been exemplary, though brief. "Destroyed with the Fifth Fleet at Molecay under Commander Artemis."

"Yes, Sir." Tigh confirmed. "The Viper _must_ have been one of those picked up by the _Pegasus_ before their departure."

"Does the record say who was assigned that Viper, Colonel?"

"Yes," said Tigh, looking back to the screen. "Listed as assigned to an Ensign Szabo. Missing in action at Molecay, presumed dead."

"But I thought all _Pegasus _pilots and wounded were transferred to the _Galactica, _before Cain headed out to engage Baltar."

"Yes, sir. Bojay informed us there were a few who refused to leave Cain. Perhaps this Szabo was one of them."

"That fits, sir," said Jenny. "The ship looks to have been repaired more than once. The Omega C circuit assembly is an older model. Series Three. The Viper we have would have been fitted with a Four. Maybe it was not flyable at the time. Maybe that's why it remained aboard when the _Pegasus_ shipped out."

"That sounds plausible." Adama turned to Tigh. "Inform Doctor Paye, and have him check the remains against Ensign Szabo's records."

"Yes, sir."

Adama's time with Cain had been brief. There was so much they didn't have a chance to talk about. Though Adama was certain that Cain had believed the _Pegasus_ was the only survivor at Molecay, there was a slight possibility that the _Cygnus_ could have endured—about that of a snowflake's chance in Hades Hole, but still a chance.

"Sir . . . " While Jenny had launched herself onto the bridge with her adrenaline flowing, knowing she had important information for command, she realized the next bit of information she offered might be misconstrued as being impertinent or even presumptuous.

Adama nodded encouragingly at her, realizing she was much more comfortable in the launch and landing bays, than before her commanding officer on the bridge. "Go ahead, Jenny."

"We've also finished the complete diagnostic on Captain Apollo's Viper. We needed to reboot the systems, but it's fully functional in all capacities. No permanent damage, Sir. Captain Bojay reported the sensor modifications we performed allowed his patrol to successfully detect two spheroids without mishap, rendering them less of a threat."

"We also have Sheba's coordinates of the base, Commander. And a preliminary scan she recorded in preparation for a possible attack." Tigh added with a flash of a smile. "A forward thinker, our lieutenant. As well as the positions of two of the spheroids not far from the base's perimeter."

Adama could feel the combined eyes of his crew looking at him expectantly. If they continued on their present course, they had the time to potentially pull off a ground assault mission against the marauder's base before they circled around the asteroid belt and were out of range. Now there was more on the line than the life of one wayward warrior acting on his own accord. There was also the potential discovery of the fate of Cain and the _Battlestar__ Pegasus or that of the Battlecruiser Cygnus._

"Summon Captains Apollo and Bojay. There will be a meeting in the war room in twenty centons." Adama ordered. They hadn't pulled off a ground assault mission since Gomoray and even he could feel the old familiar stirring rising within as they prepared to once again go on the offensive.

----------

It was almost funny; here he was a prisoner of pirates, being forced to break his back all day to harvest the foulest food substance he had ever tasted, and he just happens to meet a group of guys from Earth. _Lords, what the heck would be the odds on that one, Bucko?_

Yeah, and to top it all off, he could barely communicate with them. It was almost difficult to believe these possible descendents of the Thirteenth Tribe originally hailed from Kobol and started off speaking a similar tongue. Hades, in contrast the Empyreans had easily communicated with them, but then they had settled on an unpopulated planet. Doubtless, those who had found and joined the sectarian people over the centi-yahrens had affected their language, and coincidentally, it had evolved like their own. He wondered if the Earthbound tribe's language had been bastardized and distorted by their time on Earth, influenced by the other tongues of already established tribes. And how long had these guys been here? Did this mean Earth was close by? Would he ever find out?

Oh, if he had only spent more time playing charades, and less gambling. _Ugh._ A shudder ran up his spine . . . and then back down again, as if playing scales on a xylophone. Granted, they weren't all that good at charades either. They had managed to introduce themselves, and even that was confusing. They had so many syllables in a name; they had finally taken pity on his look of bewilderment and had shortened the overwhelming list to Dickins, Porter and Baker. The words had sounded harsh, and Starbuck had difficulty getting his tongue around them, but after much laughter and even more effort, he thought he had mastered them. Then he had introduced himself.

Revenge was sweet.

They had almost as much trouble as he did, trying to spit out the word, only he got to enjoy the monumental attempt four times over. Then, they started laughing. "Starbuck's!" said one of them, and began to giggle madly. He picked up his cup, and waved it at the others. They laughed too. Starbuck was about to make a caustic comment, but decided he lacked the vocabulary to make it truly effective. Thankfully, that was when the other work gang arrived. Including Dorado.

"Bucko!" Dorado exclaimed, giving the lieutenant a hug that Ursus would have been proud of. "I thought that big mouth of yours got you in trouble when you didn't show up. Hades, I never thought they'd put you with the others. " He stepped back from his old friend and looked him over. "Are you all right?"

"Just great. Just tell me there's some real food around here somewhere. Please. Beg. Whine. Oh, and a large ale wouldn't go unappreciated either."

"So you've tried the Koivee?" Starbuck's grimace was his reply. "Takes a while to get used to it, but other than the odd time when we get lucky and catch the odd lizard for meat, that's pretty much our daily menu. It's a bit better roasted. Never mind all that now, where's the _Galactica_? Is there any chance of a rescue? Do you think Apollo will come back looking for us?"

Starbuck sighed. "The _Galactica_ will probably cut a wide swath around the asteroid belt to keep the fleet safe, as for a rescue, I'm not  
sure. I kind of went off on my own. . ."

"Against orders?" Dorado asked with a glower.

"Not exactly . . . I just didn't give the Commander a chance to say 'no'." Starbuck shrugged. "Besides, I wouldn't have found you guys if I had waited for orders."

"Maybe." Dorado replied. "Or maybe you would have had backup when you attacked their base and kicked their astrums for attacking your patrol."

"Ah . . . I can see you've been under Cain's influence." Starbuck smiled, recalling Bojay and Sheba's similar mindset when they had first been reunited on the _Pegasus_. "Adama's first priority is keeping the Fleet safe. He probably wouldn't risk any additional fighters for one pilot . . . "

"Especially a rogue pilot." Dorado added, his face settling into a scowl of disapproval.

"Speaking of Cain, how is he? And where in Hades have you guys been all this time?" His own face settled into a scowl.

"Watching your tails. Running interference. Keeping the fleet safe." Dorado replied defensively.

"Oh-hoh! Don't give me that felger, buddy. There are quite a few people in the Fleet that would have liked to have known you survived. Cain's daughter included."

"Don't jump down my throat, Starbuck. I just follow orders. You know Cain . . . well, maybe you don't. He likes to run his own show. He wouldn't abandon the _Galactica_, but he wasn't going to be in the position where he was taking orders from Adama again. Not while it still mattered."

"You mean _dis_obeying orders from Adama." Starbuck interjected.

"Something you two have in common, apparently." Dorado returned with a smile of amusement.

"Yeah, well, the difference is, _I'm_ not commanding a Battlestar."

"Hey, Cain's strategy worked beautifully. He destroyed those two other Cylon Base Ships and had Baltar hightailing it out of there on the run, with no place for their fighters to land and refuel when they rendezvoused. The fleet escaped and had enough fuel to get out of that quadrant."

"And the _Pegasus_? What were you doing aboard, Dorado?"

"I was rotating through bridge duty when it all went down. Can't tell you how much I would have rather been out there with you guys in a Viper. Anyway, two Vipers showed up out of the blue, and took out the flank missile launchers on the Base Ships just before we maneuvered in between them and blew them to Hades Hole. We sustained a lot of damage and suffered a lot of injuries and casualties, Bucko."

"Cain?" Starbuck asked suddenly. He had just assumed the old war equine was fine.

"He's tough. It was touch and go there for a few days, but he pulled through. It was a damn good thing that Dr. Eco refused to leave the _Pegasus_ and evacuate to the _Galactica_ with the rest of the non-essential personnel. I guess he reckoned he was essential, and he was right. Within centars of waking up, Cain turned the Life Station into a secondary command station, linking up with Tolen on the bridge. Meanwhile, the rest of us were doing what we could to put the_ Pegasus _back together again."

"And after that?"

"It took us a couple sectars before we found your trail again, what with trying to scavenge for parts and make repairs while underway. We finally intercepted an Eastern Alliance Destroyer which had apparently escaped from the _Galactica_ and was on her way to Lunar Seven to tell their chain of command all about the Fleet."

"You got all that out of Leiter?"

"Cain had him singing like an avian. So you know Commandant Leiter?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm well acquainted with the particular piece of steaming mong." Starbuck replied with disdain. Apparently, Cain handled his prisoners less gingerly than Adama. Something about that rather appealed to Starbuck's sensibilities. Mind you, Cain didn't have the Council of Twelve breathing down his neck. "So they never reached Lunar Seven. Interesting. Our patrol trailed them for a while. Meanwhile, the Terrans and Eastern Alliance tried to blow each other out of existence."

"And the _Galactica_ intervened."

"Barely in time, and by then we had a pretty good idea of the Eastern Alliance's strength and forces." Starbuck shook his head at the thought of the potential loss of life. "The Commander recalled our recon patrol. You knew about Terra?"

"Our long-range sensors picked up the explosions over the ionosphere of Terra. We were tangling with a couple Cylon Base Ships about then, so there wasn't much we could do to help."

"We tangled with one of our own sectars later."

"Sorry 'bout that. She was the one that got away from us." Dorado apologized.

"Self appointed guardians of mankind, eh? Don't worry about it. Apollo and I penetrated the Base Ship's control center and took out her scanners before the _Galactica_ destroyed her. Boosted our moral quite a bit, taking that baby down. We needed it." It was rewarding to see the respect that crossed his friend's features.

"You _boarded_ a Cylon Base Ship and _penetrated_ the Command Center? How in Hades did you do that?"

"With a little help from Baltar." Starbuck watched the other man's eyes get wide as a Base Ship. He couldn't help but crack a grin.

"Huh? You . . . from _Baltar?_ How the Hades . . . "

"It's a long story, better discussed over a cold ale."

"Like all your long stories." Dorado grinned. "And I'll hold you to that ale, Bucko. Skorpian. A '93."

"Done. Though I might twist your arm and have you try the new Empyrean brews."

"Empyrean? I thought they just referred to them as Sagittarian. They did make some fine dark brews, I recall. Remember that imported honey brown that you found while we were at the Academy?"

"Are we still talking ales, buddy?" A fleeting smile crossed Starbuck's features as memories of jamocha skin; dark brown, flowing hair; eyes you could get lost in; and one of the sharpest ladies he had ever met . . . _Lords, how long had it been since he thought of Imara . . . ?_

"Hey, let me introduce you to everyone." Dorado clapped him on the shoulder.

"I've already met Porter, Dickins and Baker."

"Not bad, Starbuck. I'm impressed. Luckily, their Commander is a whiz with languages and after almost thirty yahrens around this place; he's caught onto Standard fairly well. Meet Commander Mark Dayton of the Space Shuttle _Endeavour_. Mark, this is Lieutenant Starbuck of the Battlestar _Galactica_."

While Rooke and the fourth man, by the name of Ryan, had slumped down on their respective bunks, this man had been standing to the side during their reunion, listening intently. Like his crew, he was dressed raggedly, and now Starbuck knew it was because he had been there for thirty yahrens. His grey hair was as dirty as the rest of him, and was pulled back into a queue. His full beard looked as though someone had recently trimmed it with a tool having all the cutting precision of a plastic spoon.

"Lieutenant Starbuck." The Commander held out a hand to grip the warrior's. While perfectly discernible, his speech was heavily accented. A strange mixture of brogue, similar to Croad or Robber's, and something else unrecognizable.

"Commander." Starbuck returned gripping the strong hand, not wanting to attempt the strange name _Markdayton_. "Space Shuttle . . . _Endeavour_?" He twisted his tongue around the name as he looked to the illustration on the wall. "From Earth?"

"From Earth." The Commander confirmed.

"Are we far from Earth?" Starbuck asked him, holding tight to the man's grip as if doing so would make Earth that much closer.

"As the friend would say, Lieutenant," he nodded at Dorado, "danged if I know." As he stood back, the Earthman looked at the new arrival and then to his crew, and with a slight grin asked him; "Lieutenant, do you like coffee?"


	44. Chapter 44

It was supposed to have been a routine mission. Commander Mark Dayton had a fairly good idea how the Skipper and Gilligan must have felt when their three-hour tour turned into a life time adventure on a desert island in the Pacific Ocean. Only this hadn't been a comedy, and he'd run more than three seasons.

July 1st, 2010. The Space Shuttle Endeavour was scheduled to fly its last mission before it was due to be decommissioned. The assignment—rendezvous for resupply and astronaut exchange with the International Space Station.

The crew: Spacecraft Commander Mark Dayton, Colonel, USAF; Lieutenant Colonel Robert "Bob" Baker, USAF; Mission Specialist James "Jimmy" Porter; Captain Richard "Dick" Dickins, USN; Mission Specialist Patrick "Paddy" Ryan, CSA; Payload Specialist Colonel Benjamin Zuskin, IAF; Mission Specialist Lynn Bond, PhD.

Suddenly, the launch time was delayed. The reason—the Islamic World Front had threatened to blow up the ISS. Their stated reason? The ISS's orbit had taken the station over Mecca. Outraged at this intrusion by "infidels", the IWF had demanded the orbit be changed. None of them seemed to grasp that changing the orbit of something as massive as the space station was not like changing lanes in your car. Official explanation released to the media—the weather, as usual.Dayton still remembered thinking how farfetched the threat had seemed at the time. The amount of education, experience, training and intensive background screening that each astronaut had to go through, in his mind ruled out that any International Terrorist Organization could penetrate the Space Program. Still, a houlder-launched missile, as any chopper pilot who had served in Iraq would tell you, could ruin your whole day. He couldn't help the twinge of fear that hit him in the gut, and, of course, NASA had to act on the information.

The timing couldn't have been worse. Not only was NASA forced to double check the histories of every astronaut already on the ISS with the FBI, but they were also re-checking the current roster for the planned launch. Which team had been potentially infiltrated? The existing one, or the newest one scheduled to replace them? Or was it all an elaborate hoax?

The two hours before launch were always the worst part of any mission. Butterflies fluttered around the stomach of the most experienced astronaut, and with this added threat hanging over them . . . Good Lord, he was staring at the rest of his crew, looking at them in a new light, that of potential terrorists!

NASA came up empty. Not a blemish on the record of any man or woman either on the Space Station, or scheduled to land there. Finally, NASA Director Larson decided the threat was simply a terrorist ploy to make them _think_ that the illustrious Space Program could be infiltrated. After all, the true aim of terrorism was to instill fear in the hearts of citizens. They would _not_ cancel the launch!

In retrospect, none of it mattered. It was already too late.

The launch had gone according to Hoyle. The flight had been routine. The venerable old ship, about to be replaced by a new generation of transport craft, had performed superlatively. They were finally on their approach and Dayton was at last beginning to relax when it happened. What just a second before had been the sight of the celebrated International Space Station coming into range, abruptly exploded in a deadly burst of destruction.

He threw his arms up to shield himself from the intense flash of light, his rational mind predicting that they too would be consumed by the explosion that had incinerated the Space Station.. The control panel went crazy, and the _Endeavour_ trembled, as though the concussion of the blast would tear her apart. The alarm sounded as her gyros failed. Inexplicably, she seemed to accelerate, as though being drawn into some vortex that he couldn't _begin_ to understand. He could hear the screams of his crew, while the ship shuddered and the stressed metal groaned, as if in its final death throes. His body felt as though it was trying to turn inside out, and his screams of agony and terror joined that of his crew. Only long hours of intensive training prompted him to reflexively slam his helmet shut just before the encroaching greyness faded to black.

He awoke to Baker shaking him, asking if he was alright. He had looked around blearily realizing he was no longer on the _Endeavour._ Instead, they seemed to be in some kind of cavern. At a glance, his crew seemed to be all accounted for and were in various states of consciousness, but seemingly in one piece. "Where . . . are we?" he had asked, his body reacting woodenly.

"I don't know. But it sure as hell ain't Kansas, Dorothy."

----------

Klaxons were going off in Reece's mind. The sanitation tech, Oriana, had gone missing and her quarters had been thoroughly turned over. Ensign Luana was missing as well. Willem was glancing at Reece with that _what-did-we-miss_ look on his face, as they briskly paced to the scene of the crime.

Apollo and Boomer were already there with that Empyrean Quack and a cute little Ensign he didn't know. Well, at least Starbuck wasn't there to contribute to his grief . . . which was almost weird, when Reece thought about it.

"Perhaps you'll take my missing persons report seriously now." Ama was in Reece's face before he could take two steps inside the quarters.

"Back off, Lady." He muttered as his eyes swept the room. "Have you touched anything?" He asked Apollo. The computer had obviously hit the wall at some point, yet was suspiciously in an upright position on the floor. Apollo seemed to squirm for a moment before responding.

"Just the computer."

Reece looked at him hard for a moment before sighing. "You _do_ know that you're not supposed to touch anything in a crime scene, Captain. Right?"

Apollo met the man's baleful glance. Reece must be feeling some satisfaction about now. A little revenge for yahrens worth of deprecating remarks and treatment from the Colonial Warriors. "I know. I used one of the power cells from my gun belt to tip it back upright, and hit the buttons." He held up the item in question. "No prints were compromised, if there were any. I suspect that if they weren't wearing gloves when they hurled the computer against the wall, there might be _at least_ one other imprint in the room you can lift. Two women are missing here, Reece. Their lives could be at stake. I was willing to take the risk of disturbing the scene, just as I'm willing to take the responsibility. We need to find them now."

"Never mind the fracking politics, you two. Did you get anything from it?" Willem ended the sparring, pulling on a pair of latex gloves and squatting down in front of the terminal.

"No." Boomer replied, joining Willem. He liked the Security Officer. Willem was all business. He loved his job. Took pride in it. He even seemed to be teaching Reece a few things since joining the force. "She's as dead as . . . " he trailed off, as unwelcome thoughts of Starbuck penetrated his thoughts. "There's no power, Will. We called Corporal Komma. He's going to come take a look at her, and see what he can find lurking in the hard drive."

"Komma, huh. Not a bad choice. Wilker would probably want to dismantle it first."

"Will, what say we haul Borka and Kaden back in?" Reece asked, thinking of his discussion with Starbuck in the Security Office. Obviously, those two had something to do with all this.

"Stellar idea." Willem replied with a smile. Now this was the partner he was used to. Using his head instead of his emotions. Yep, Reece was coming along nicely. "We can hold them for twenty-four centars. Separate interrogation rooms and mess with their minds a little, playing them off against one another." An evil smile lit his features. "Hopefully, by then Komma will have retrieved something useful from the data banks." Twelve yahrens in Caprica City's Civil Security Force had stood him well. He knew how to get what he was looking for out of his detainees.

"Borka and Kaden?" Apollo asked. "Obviously you know more than what was in the report you forwarded to me."

"We can't _officially_ record conjecture, Captain." Willem shrugged. "Reece and Starbuck had a little chat. Your friend thought Oriana was up to something. Just what, he claimed to not know. I suspect the lieutenant might be able to shed some light on this if you bring him into the picture."

"Uh . . . that isn't possible. Starbuck's missing in action." Apollo informed them.

"Oh." Silence hung in the room for a moment. "Sorry to hear that." Will offered.

"So am I, Apollo. Boomer." Reece added with a frown. He drew a deep breath. "In the meantime, let's compare notes so we can organize a search. I get the idea a lot has happened since I last spoke to Starbuck."

_Captains Apollo and Bojay, report to the bridge. Captains Apollo and Bojay, report to the bridge._ The comm crackled to life.

"Boomer . . . " Apollo started.

"I know." Boomer nodded. "Don't worry, I'll help handle this end of it."

"Thanks, buddy." Apollo replied, briefly turning to Lia and squeezing her arm. "You're in good hands, Lia. We'll find them."

She nodded, believing him. Her only concern was, in _what_ condition would they find them. "Let me know if it's not Starbuck, Apollo. I _need_ to know."

Apollo could feel Boomer's eyes on him, making a similar silent plea. "Of course, I will. One way or the other, I let you _all_ know. " He promised before turning to go.

"Captain!" Ama hollered after him. "Bring back our boy!"

Apollo paused, not quite knowing what to say. Oh, to have Ama's undeniable and unshakeable faith that Starbuck was still alive. The initial results of the autopsy and Viper diagnostic would be back. It was likely because of those results he was being summoned to the bridge. But  
. . . so was Bojay, the wing leader of the recon patrol that found the lost viper, and the pirate's base. If Starbuck was truly dead, the Commander would notify him, but not necessarily Bojay. However, if Starbuck _wasn't_ the deceased pilot . . . He could feel a quickening of his pulse as he met her eye. "I will, Ama. I will."

----------

The much maligned theory of the space-time continuum—'the wormhole'. Scientists had insisted that it wasn't possible. The physics didn't exist to logically explain it. At times Dayton thought he was starring in some cheesy science fiction novel, as he ran it through his mind repeatedly. How on Earth had it happened? Or rather, _not _on Earth.

Well, if you fill a prison hovel with seven astronauts with enough collective education and degrees to roast Koivee until it ferments, you eventually formulate a theory—though sometimes he thought the theory might have been more affected by the intake of their pungent 'homebrew' than the laws of physics.

Scientists going back to Einstein had agreed worldwide that spacetime could be warped and distorted by gravity, but it was believed that a wormhole, even if actually possible, would take an immense amount of matter or energy to create the effect. Not only that, but that energy had to occur in space at the entry and exit portals of the wormhole simultaneously. Now, as an effective or reliable mode of transportation for the future, it was implausible, especially since something passing through the wormhole would immediately cause it to collapse. However, as a freak of nature . . . or science, depending on one's point of view, the astronauts had agreed that just possibly the explosion of the International Space Station could create the kind of energy necessary to open the wormhole.

Lord knows what the terrorist . . . or terrorists . . . had used to blow the Station, but from the look of the explosion and their subsequent trip down the Yellow Brick Road, it had to have packed quite a punch. Since then, they had become aware of the amount of energy created by the blast of Torg's favourite toys, the Dynamos, which in turn could have opened the portal on the other side. Of course, as the _Endeavour_ was sucked into the wormhole, taking them to God only knows where or when, the passage behind them closed, cutting off their link to home for good.

Or at least that's what he had thought until he met Lieutenant Starbuck.

Dayton had cohabitated with several other 'Standard' speaking Humans through his imprisonment, which was how he had eventually learned their language, but Starbuck was the first to look at the drawings that Benjamin Zuskin had sketched before his daring escape almost twenty-eight years ago, and actually identify them as Earth's solar system. The NASA Commander almost couldn't believe it. He had given up hope long ago that anyone in this star system even knew about Earth. _His_ Earth.

Dorado had mentioned Earth briefly, but he seemed confused as to whether the planet they sought might actually be in a system they had previously passed through, and was now actually known as Terra. Even his CO, Commander Cain, had seemed perplexed why their people had continued on some inexplicable path when it was as plain as the nose on his face that Terra . . . or Earth, lay behind them.

Dayton had asked Dorado about Terra extensively, and while the modus operandi certainly sounded familiar, he had never heard of the opposing players. Still, if the year wasn't 2040, it was plausible that in the future two opposing factions could conceivably try to blow their planet to Smithereens. How many times had Hollywood brought Armageddon to life on the big screen? Dorado cinched it though when Dayton asked him to describe the star system in which Terra belonged, and it wasn't the least bit similar to _his_ Earth's.

So even as he casually gripped Starbuck's hand, and teased him about his least favourite place to get a cup of coffee in the USA, he could feel his heart rate elevate and his body and mind perk up with a tiny glimmer of hope. Goddamn, he had been stuck in this cesspool for a longtime.

How many times had he tried to escape over his thirty-year confinement? Hell, it must have been at least once a year after their first attempt. Twice that in the early days before the Obediator. The only time they got close was the first time.

Ten prisoners had made it to the hangar that day after killing one guard, armed only with the tools they had been given to harvest the Koivee. Despite the fact that they had the element of surprise on their side, only two had made it to a ship that was functional enough to get them out of there. Ben Zuskin was lucky enough to be one of them. That crazy smuggler, Phineas, was the other.

Dayton, Porter, Dickins and Baker had picked the wrong ship . . . twice. That had been his fault, really. He had pulled rank, insisting on trying to fire up the _Endeavour_, but after a few precious minutes, it became obvious that the ship was never going anywhere again. Instruments were missing from the cockpit, and parts stripped from just about everywhere. They had reluctantly abandoned the _Endeavour_, and headed for a ship more serviceable, their chances deteriorating with each passing second. Though their second choice looked fast, they hadn't realized the extent of the pirate's scavenging from the outside. She wouldn't even fire up for them. They were surrounded in minutes, not given a third chance. And they were the lucky ones.

Ryan and Bond had both been shot with some sort of energy weapons trying to make it to a ship. Something else out of a bad sci-fi flick. They hadn't been the only ones. Two other prisoners were shot to death trying to escape. Bond had managed to hang on for a few days, but with inadequate medical intervention, and her already weakened condition from her diet of 'rotten root', as she called it, she perished. The way the pirates had been ogling her, it probably wasn't the worst thing that could have happened to her. Unbelievably, Ryan pulled through. He said if he could survive the Canadian Women's Hockey Team surpassing the medal standing over the Canadian Men's for two consecutive Winter Olympics, he could survive anything.

How many nights had Dayton laid awake, wondering what had become of Zuskin? Of course, the initial plan was to go home and get help, and then return to rescue anyone that didn't get out. That had been naïve. Hell, they didn't even know where home was. And to top it all off, the Wizard was clearly out of red ruby slippers. More than likely, the two escapees would have smuggled their way all the way to the Frodo System, to a small settlement called Croton from which Phineas hailed.

And that was assuming they even made it.

Though, rumour had it that Zuskin picked the fastest ship on the asteroid, and Phineas was one slick pilot with his smuggling experience. They _must_ have made it. The truth was that Torg would have come bragging if his scumbags had managed to catch or kill the pair.

Geez . . . twenty-eight years ago. Likely, Zuskin would have finally learned how to get by in Standard. He had had a hard time picking up the most basic of words, which was strange, since he already spoke three languages fluently. _Wherever you are, Zuskin, I hope you did all right. Hell, anything would be better than this. Anything at all._

----------

Luana had checked every centimetron of the container she seemed to be trapped in. She had found every wall, including the one above her when she tried to stand up, which is no easy task when you're bound hand and foot.

Several centars must have passed. It had to be early evening by now. She would have liked to have told herself that her keen assessment of the passing of time was instinctual, but it really had more to do with the growing pressure in her bladder, as it screamed at her to do the decent thing . . . the natural thing . . .

How fracking elegant.

She'd seen a bit of the IFB here and there, followed some of the hit programs. Never had she seen any heroine held captive, whose primary focus was the growing need to relieve herself. No, it just didn't make primetime.

What the frack was Borka going to do? Hold her here until she died from her bladder exploding?

Granted, she held her breath every time she heard a noise that could indicate one of her captors had returned. Again, she wasn't sure why she was still alive, and she had a damn good idea that the next time the hooligans made an appearance, they'd be doing their best to rectify the situation.

Her wrists stung where she had rubbed them raw as she worked at the restraints. She wasn't even able to find a jagged piece of _anything_ to help tear into the tight bonds, which were made from some kind of strange fiber that seemed to get tighter as she tugged at it.

Her mouth was so dry that the disgusting rag in it was now stuck to the roof of her mouth. Just the mere thought of where it had come from, managed to nauseate her once again.

She had never been so miserable in her entire life. _Where the frack are you, Starbuck?_


	45. Chapter 45

"You _really_ don't know where Earth is?"

Why was he surprised? Lords, the way the last few days had been going, it was no fracking wonder that the only men from Earth that Starbuck knew of, other than the Silent One, who had turned out to be one of their team anyway, would have no clue how far away Earth was. Not only that, but Dayton had also pointed out that in addition to their relocation through the wormhole, there could have also been a time disturbance. Earth could either be yahrens ahead or behind of when they had left in the year of their Lord, 2010.

"Yes. Difficult to believe, isn't it?" Dayton replied. Had things changed significantly since they had left? Who was to know what technological advances could have been made in thirty years? Did it even matter? Hell, if the Colonials ended up on Earth's doorstep, and mankind wasn't up to the task, it could mean the end for them all. Maybe he shouldn't be so keen to help these people . . . His wife, his children, maybe even his grandchildren . . . all wiped out because he wanted to go home . . .

Starbuck simply shook his head in return. It essentially meant that they could study Earth, and learn about her culture, history, people . . . but . . . the burning question, the answer that every pragmatic person in the Fleet sought—were the people of Earth technologically advanced enough to help in their fight against the Cylons—Dayton couldn't truthfully answer. From the look of Dayton's ship, and what he'd told Starbuck about the Earth he'd left, it did not seem so.

Earth. It had been the symbol of hope for so many people for so long. That carrot at the end of the proverbial stick that kept them going day in, day out. What if their arrival at their final destination only resulted in disaster for the people of Earth? Would the addition of the _Pegasus_ make a difference? She had facilitated the escape for the Fleet in the incident at Gamoray, but it was hardly a decisive military victory. And with Cain at the helm of the _Pegasus_ running his own show, the strength of two Battlestars had been a moot point. What was the Commander thinking staying out of sight, and not letting Adama in on his little secret? Hades, Starbuck was beginning to wonder if doing things his own way was more important to the Juggernaut than his people's ultimate survival. Maybe they had misjudged Cain. Perhaps the pedestal that his people had designed for the great Commander was a bit too lofty.

"Frack . . . " A busy day yesterday, a night with little sleep, and another eventful day starting with an unconscious Strike Captain, and culminating in instruments of pirate torture and manual labour. Hades, did he even have anything to eat that morning before patrol? Generally he started his day with a large java or two, but not invariably. His memory seemed hazy around the edges and the dourness of the situation along with the exhaustion hit him as if the artificial gravity had suddenly increased twofold. He blinked as his vision gradually blurred until all his could focus on was the miniscule point of sharpness in the middle of . . .

"Sit down, Lieutenant." Dayton reached out, gripping Starbuck's arm, as the warrior seemed to weave. He guided the pale man to the nearest cot. "Put your head between your knees." He pushed Starbuck into position.

"You okay, Bucko?" Dorado asked, kneeling down on his other side. "Did you eat anything since you arrived?"

"Waiting . . . for the midnight buffet to open." Starbuck grimaced as the thought of putting any more koivee in his mouth turned his already unsettled stomach. There wasn't enough room in there for the aptly named rotting root _and_ an Obediator.

"You're okay." Dorado answered for him, more for Dayton's benefit when he heard the trademark quip. He tried to thrust a roasted piece of root into his friend's reluctant hand. "Eat it. You need to keep your energy up. Koivee has a high sugar content and a complex long-chain carbohydrate density. At least it's good for that, if nothing else."

"Let me check the stomach first, Dorado." Dayton instructed him, pushing Starbuck's shoulders back until he was supine on the cot. He pulled up the lieutenant's shirt, revealing the small wound left by the Obediator's insertion. Old blood and dirt were smeared around the inflamed wound, but the serosanguinous exudate seemed to be slowing. He palpated the abdomen, relieved when a slight grimace was the only response. Dayton had seen more than one man die only days after the Obediator's insertion, when peritonitis had set in. Then there were others, like Rooke, who had simply wasted away over a couple months. "Looks okay."

Starbuck peered down at the seeping wound as he propped himself up on his elbows. He quickly averted his eyes, not fond of suddenly having a window to his abdominal cavity. Fortunately, his regular inoculations had immunized him to a wide range of infectious agents. He hoped his immune system recognized any germs as similar enough. "Is there a doctor in the group?"

"Several, but I don't think you need one. It should heal fine." Dayton told him with a rueful smile. Not one of the doctorates was in medicine, but then that wasn't what the man had asked. "What you need is nourishment, Lieutenant."

"Right." He agreed dubiously. "But first, tell me something. Who are these guys? I mean we're from the Colonies. You're from Earth. What about them?"

"I could probably answer that as well as Dayton, Bucko. Believe me, we've discussed it extensively." Dorado shrugged once again thrusting the roasted root into the warrior's hand. "Eat it. After I see you take a bite, then I'll answer your question."

"I'm not six-yahrens-old, Dorado." Starbuck protested, looking with disgust at the grey, swollen, moist koivee that reminded him of a piece of rotting flesh.

"Then stop acting like you are. Eat it. That's an order."

"An order?" Starbuck raised an eyebrow as he looked at his friend. All indications of rank were long gone from the bedraggled uniform.

"Congratulate me. I'm a captain now. Eat it, Lieutenant."

"_You're_ a Captain?" Starbuck grinned. "The pickings must have been slim, buddy."

"Actually, I believe we all outrank you here, Lieutenant. Eat the koivee." Dayton said pointedly.

"Call me Starbuck."

"Eat the damn koivee, Starbuck." Dayton repeated.

Starbuck blew out a deep breath before putting the root in his mouth. With his teeth, he scraped the flesh from the fibers as he had seen the others do. The moisture hitting his tongue would have been blissful had the root not smelled like Giles' locker in the Fitness Center. He couldn't help but screw up his face as a shiver of revulsion ran through him. "Frack, that's awful," but he swallowed it regardless, knowing his blood sugar level was in his boots . . . correction, his _former_ boots.

The others laughed as they looked on. "It'll grow on you. You're just not hungry enough yet." Dayton told him.

"I'm not sure I ever will be." He smiled wanly as he took another bite. At least it was easing his thirst. He looked to Dorado and Dayton. "Well?"

Dayton nodded. "From what I've pieced together—and remember, their history is a bit sketchy—they say they were part of a group of explorers that headed out from their Mother World—no one seems to remember its name—to find a new planet to settle. Along the way a group of scientists decided to settle the asteroid belt instead, partially because they were weary of the long voyage, and partially because they believed the existing natural resources could sustain them in what everyone else would consider an inhospitable environment."

"They wanted a challenge?" Starbuck asked.

"I suspect that among this group, several must have specialized in survival in hostile environments, as well as the refinement of ores and the conversion and creation of energy systems. A man with a passion will endure the worst of situations to realize his dream."

"Sounds like you just summed up your own situation." Starbuck suggested.

"Perhaps." Dayton looked to Dorado to continue.

"Well, it turns out they were wrong. Oh, the bare necessities are here all right, but man generally doesn't want to merely exist, at least not in the long term, they want to flourish. Perhaps if it had only been the core group of scientists, they would have been content to continue on, but the settlers they brought with them wanted more. It wasn't long before they started sending out small patrols to look to supplement their meager lifestyles."

"Piracy." Ryan, who had been silent up until now, inserted. "It became the way of life. No matter the race, as long as they could scavenge anything usable. Prisoners were used to harvest the koivee, and mine the ore. Much like today."

Starbuck looked to Ryan with a frown, and then at the group as a whole. "Your Standard is improving by the micron."

Ryan grinned in response. "As is your articulation." And then, "What is a micron?"

"About a second." Dayton translated. "I believe the actual transformation of settlers to pirates would have occurred over generations."

"Too bad the food never got any better." Starbuck mentioned.

"You'll adapt." Dayton told him.

"The frack I will!" said Starbuck. "I have no intention of slaving for these astrumoids, in between torture sessions."

"We have little choice" explained Dayton.

Starbuck ignored that, looking to Dorado. "Do you still have the knife?"

"Of course." Dorado pulled the knife from his sleeve, where he had secured it with koivee fiber to his arm. "It sure peels the koivee a lot easier than a stone does."

"Peels the koivee?" Starbuck groaned. Even if the food was terrible, Dorado was evidently still a slave to his stomach. "That wasn't quite what I had in mind."

"Just what are you thinking, Starbuck?" Dorado asked, suddenly getting a bad feeling about that familiar glint in his friend's eye. The crazy look. He remembered that look from the Academy. It always boded poorly.

"Cut that _thing_ out of me."

----------

Three little words. Three _wonderful_ words.

"It's not Starbuck."

It had been like losing Zac all over again, maybe even worse. After all, as much as Apollo loved his little brother, he had spent enough yahrens away from home in his early career that Zac had almost seemed like a stranger to him when they had reunited aboard the _Galactica_ before the Destruction. Seldom had the family managed to arrange furloughs at the same time, and Adama was reluctant to pull rank, never being one who put his own needs before those under his command. Though Apollo knew his mother, Ila, had berated the Commander often enough for just that, feeling she deserved to be reunited with her entire family more than once every two or three yahrens.

Starbuck, on the other hand, had turned into one of his best friends at the Academy. They had learned a lot about one another in his last yahren when Starbuck had ended up discovering a smuggling operation lead by the Academy's executive officer, establishing the basis for a strong and enduring friendship. Apollo graduated, going on to become a decorated pilot. Starbuck stayed for his final yahren, furthering his cadet training on various ships. They'd lost touch. Then, when they had both been assigned to the same Battlestar yahrens later, it had been like old home secton. Starbuck hadn't changed a bit.

There were few people that Apollo could truthfully say he could read like a book, but Starbuck was the exception. Not that he claimed to always get it right, but he wasn't far off. And Starbuck sure as Hades let him know if he was.

"The Viper was assigned to the Battlecruiser _Cygnus_, which was assumed destroyed at Molecay. Either that isn't true, or . . . " Adama informed his son.

"Or it was one of the fighters that the _Pegasus_ picked up at Molecay before heading into deep space." Apollo finished. He smiled at the way Bojay's face lit up like the skies of Caprica during Festival.

"We picked up a couple warriors from the _Cygnus_, Commander. Lieutenant Helis and Ensign Szabo. Helis was killed about a yahren ago in a skirmish over Gamoray, but Szabo was actually laid up recovering from a nasty head injury when Commander Cain ordered our squadrons to the _Galactica_. He was a bit superstitious about always flying the same ship, especially after limping away from Molecay in her. As you probably realize, Sir, he wasn't among those that transferred over from our Life Station." Bojay explained.

"Dr. Paye is checking his records to attempt to identify the remains." Colonel Tigh interjected. "But tell me; if Cain ordered all the wounded to evacuate to the Fleet when he headed out to take on Baltar's Task Force, why did Szabo remain?"

"I'm not sure, Colonel. I heard rumours of a few that refused to leave him, no matter what. I wasn't in that position with Cassiopeia standing guard, as you might imagine." He smiled ruefully at his memory of the med tech's single-minded determination that he would survive. "Sazbo's ship was down with battle damage. He was from an odd sect; one descended from the ancient knights. They believed that a Colonial Warrior and his sword must never be separated. To do so was bad luck. In the modern age," Bojay shrugged, "it was a warrior and his Viper. That's my guess, anyway."

"Well, in some small way, Ensign Szabo has done us a service," said Adama, "even in death. We now know that the _Pegasus_ survived."

Bojay nodded, musing over the new information. "So Cain made it. He _really_ made it." Bojay was torn between tremendous happiness that _his_ base ship was still out there in one piece, and the loss of yet one more Silver Spar pilot . . . but he had thought _all_ them lost not long ago. "Have you told Sheba, Commander?"

"No. I only just . . ."

"Told me what?" Sheba asked as she entered the War Room on the tail end of the conversation. Apollo and Bojay were both grinning at her inanely. Not exactly their usual pose. They looked like they'd been hanging out with Starbuck. _Drinking. _"What's going on?"

Adama smiled warmly at the warrior. "Sheba, the Viper we found isn't Starbuck's. In fact, it's from the _Pegasus_. Your father is still out there somewhere."

Sheba, despite the outward show of hope and apparent refusal to accept the obvious, had, deep inside, given up hope long ago. She'd never forget the kindness of Adama, Apollo and Starbuck, as they stood around her biostretcher that fateful day trying to buoy her spirits when Cain had disappeared amid the spectacular fireworks of one Colonial Battlestar taking on three Cylons Base Ships. But even as they tried valiantly to make her believe that the Juggernaut had once again achieved the impossible, she felt in her heart that she had seen the last of the Living Legend.

Cain had raised his beloved daughter to be many things, one of which was a realist. Her career had only ingrained the lessons that her father had begun. There was no way the _Pegasus_ could have survived, despite all the honey-coated words of Count Iblis to the contrary. She had poured over every conceivable possibility in her mind, in the darkness, when sleep refused to come. Her father was dead. The _Pegasus_ destroyed.

Her knees buckled.

Apollo reacted lightening quick, reaching for her as she started to slump to the floor. He was simply too far away, and ended up on his own knees, facing her as she kneeled before him in shock. "Sheba?"

She stared at him, her brown eyes pooling with tears, shaking her head in denial. Even as Apollo brushed her hair back from her face, and smiled at her with that compassion and understanding that she had come to love, she still had trouble accepting the announcement as the truth. She had steeled herself to accept Cain's demise and to move forward, and here they were telling her that he was back.

"Alive?"

It was but a whisper.

----------

"Are we getting anywhere?" Boomer asked Reece, as the Security Officer left the interrogation room and closed the door.

Reece let out a deep sigh. "I'm not. Kaden is one cool customer, Lieutenant. He says they went over to the _Malocchio_ to procure some Empyrean Ale from the Tankard. Apparently, the owner has a bit of a side business in off-sales." He made a mental note wondering if he could use that detail against the owner to barter for information. After all, off-sales from unregulated liquor distribution centers were against existing code. Not because the Commander or the Council had anything against a bit of the old home brew, but because some of the stuff that had surfaced was downright lethal. "What about Corporal Komma's work with Oriana's computer?"

"He said a prayer over the hard drive before he even looked at it." The line was delivered with the most solemn of expressions.

"You're kidding me."

"I wish." Boomer replied. "Doesn't exactly fill me with confidence."

"Where are Lia and Ama?" Reece asked. He had actually been relieved that the Empyrean Necromancer had departed. The woman intimidated the heck out of him for no good reason.

"Back on the _Malocchio_. They're checking in with the Imperial Guard to see how the search is going."

"Castor is liaising with Kella. They'll go over that Freighter with a fine tooth comb." Reece assured the lieutenant.

"That's great, providing Luana's still there."

"You don't think she is?"

"No idea." Boomer glanced at his chrono. Apollo hadn't been gone that long, but still it was long enough to know whether or not the body was Starbuck's. Hopefully, he would hear something soon. In the meantime, he needed to find his buddy's betrothed. "I just feel like we're. . . doing nothing!" There was absolutely nothing he could do to affect the outcome of Starbuck's fate right now, but the situation with Luana was different. They could make a difference. Two men who likely knew exactly where she was were in separate interrogation rooms right now playing innocent. There had to be some way to get around that, short of holding a blaster to their temples and threatening to incinerate them.

The door to the second interrogation room opened and a blasé looking Willem came out, shutting it behind him. He looked to Reece immediately. "Anything?"

"No. He's tighter than a fossilized mollusk. You?"

"He knows something. He's nervous. Won't crack though. Not for me." Will looked over at Boomer who was as tense as a cadet on his first solo flight. "I have an idea though. Maybe the lieutenant here can help. If he's up to the task?" He quirked an eyebrow in the warrior's direction.

"Tell me what's on your mind. I'm willing to try just about anything." Boomer replied with interest.


	46. Chapter 46

The sudden silence gave Starbuck the suspicion that more than just a couple of them understood Colonial Standard. Indeed, they were all looking at him as though he was completely out of his mind.

"What?" Starbuck asked.

"Can we?" Dorado asked Dayton. Actually, it wasn't a bad idea. The blade was certainly sharp enough to reach the Obediator, unlike the stones they had been working with that seemed to chip whenever they tried to hone a fine point for weapon potential. And the Obediator was the only thing stopping them from leaving the tunnels. Without it, the path would be virtually clear. And then . . .

"Perhaps on Starbuck. It was inserted only six hours ago." It shouldn't have fully adhered to his tissues yet, and providing it was near the entry site, it could possibly be retrieved. But he'd have to talk Ryan into it. At least _he_ had pre-med and was raised on a farm. "There's a good chance it would become infected afterward. You realize that, don't you?"

Starbuck nodded. All the immunizations in the universe wouldn't be able to save him from a dirty blade. "It would take twenty-four centars for any symptoms to show up. I plan on being out of here by then."

"And if you aren't?" Dayton asked.

"Then at least I tried." Starbuck shrugged. He'd rather be dead than harvesting koivee for the rest of his life.

"Fair enough. Just so you know what you're getting yourself into." The NASA Commander nodded at him with new respect in his eyes. "What would you do then? Tell me more of this plan." Dayton asked, sitting on the cot opposite.

"I passed the control center on the way in. There was only one attendant at the time." Starbuck looked at the others seeing a couple nods in his direction. Others were plainly struggling to follow along. "So that's normal?"

"Yes." Dayton replied. "The Obediator has effectively kept us contained since its inception. They pulled the guards long ago. Are you sure you could find it? And are you certain you could overcome the attendant?"

"I think I could find it." Starbuck nodded, glossing over the other. That obviously depended on the attendant. "I'm more concerned about disabling the cyclatron for the Obediators so I can spring the rest of you. The way my luck has gone lately, I might just kill the life support by mistake."

"Are you kidding?" Dorado asked him in surprise.

"Have you _seen_ the control center? It makes the _Galactica_ look like someone just cracked a bottle of ambrosa on her hull, and she left the space dock shiny and new last secton. I don't know where that technology came from, but I didn't recognize most of it."

"Much of the technology is archaic. Most of it has been replaced with makeshift parts, many of them scavenged from passing ships . . . like the _Endeavour_." Dayton had been in the control room on occasion. He had even been forced to help repair a couple of their systems, while one of his crew writhed in agony on the ground in front of him to encourage his full cooperation.

"We have basic weapons in a cache. Made of stone, you understand." Ryan told him. "If you can get by the technology and destroy the cyclatron, we will be ready to back you up."

Starbuck nodded. "I was hoping you'd say that. I want to deactivate the Dynamos as well, if that's possible. If I could get a ship and rendezvous with the _Galactica_, we could all get out of here. I don't want to run into anymore of those things on my way out of here."

"Ah, that's what you're thinking. Well, at least we know your Viper will still be there." Dorado mentioned.

"How do you know that?" Dayton asked.

"He sabotaged her. Unless they've learned their way around a Viper better than I think they have, it'll take them a while to figure it out." Dorado grinned.

"You were planning ahead. I'm impressed."

"Well, sometimes a plan just comes together." Starbuck smiled. He hadn't been planning ahead at all, he just didn't want the vermin in his fighter. "As for the Dynamos and cyclatron, do you know how to destroy or at least deactivate them, Dayton?"

Dayton simply nodded.

"Then you could tell me what to do."

"I'm not sure that I could."

"Why not?"

"I've only been there a handful of times myself. I would know what do to, but I'm not sure I could instruct you . . ."

"I can't disable the cyclatron unless you tell me how." Starbuck pointed out, hoping to encourage him in that direction.

"You could if you took me with you." Dayton replied.

"How in Hades could I do that?"

-----------

"Two full squadrons, Silver Spar and Blue. One initiates the decoys by triggering the successive activation of a couple spheroids roughly here and here." Tigh pointed to the navigation board that the captains and lieutenant were gathered around. The specified coordinates would lead any marauders far away from the base. "The other infiltrates the base."

"How are we going to trigger the spheroids without disabling our ships?" Apollo asked.

"Dr. Wilker has been working on a remote unit for use in external repairs to eliminate the risk of losing our warriors on spacewalks." The Colonel could see Sheba nodding her approval, and knew she was thinking about how they had almost lost Apollo and Starbuck when they were setting charges to snuff the fires in the _Galactica_'s landing bay. "He hasn't quite perfected fine motor action yet, but it will be just the thing to send close enough to trigger the energy blast." Tigh replied.

"Somehow, I don't think the Doctor will appreciate our use of his new toy." Apollo suggested, an edge of humour to his voice.

"We do as we must." Adama returned, a hint of a smile on his features.

"We'd also need a shuttle to bring back the survivors." Apollo suggested. _If any_ he added silently.

"And a med tech." Bojay added.

"You'll have both." Adama nodded. "A shuttle with a Viper escort will rendezvous with the task force after the base is secured. After Silver Spar sets the bait, they will converge on the asteroid base and prevent reinforcements from returning to assist."

"What do we know about the base?" Apollo asked.

"The asteroid itself has no atmosphere, but Sheba's scan picked up a manmade environment which penetrates far into the asteroid." Tigh pointed to the data as it came on screen. "The energy readings are high enough to indicate a large settlement extending into a subterranean system of tunnels, which geotechnical scans have determined to be a mine."

"Tylium?" Bojay asked.

"Similar, but much higher in carbon content." Tigh answered.

"More stable in its raw form?" Apollo asked.

"We can hope." Bojay inserted, knowing how explosive raw tylium was when hit by an extraneous energy source. That, and under the incredible pressures deep inside a planetary body above a certain size, tylium acted in dangerous and sometimes unpredictable ways. He'd heard the stories, and seen the vids, of Carillon exploding. "It'll be a challenge to sustain an attack without lasers once you're in there."

"Speaking of, I want weapons set on stun when you hit the base. As yet, these people have utilized a weapon that simply disables ships and doesn't harm the pilot."

"Commander, Szabo . . . " Sheba inserted.

"I haven't forgotten the Ensign, Lieutenant. The technicians are still trying to reconstruct something from what's left of his ship's flight recorder. So keep in mind, we don't know any of the details surrounding that incident. I don't need to remind you that these people _are_ Human." He frowned, aware he had done just that. "Therefore, somewhere in that settlement there are likely women and children. This mission's primary focus is to penetrate the base and find out what happened to the _Pegasus_. We don't routinely fly one man patrols, so there could be Colonial Warriors being detained on that base, and, I pray that Starbuck will be among them."

"Commander Adama," Bojay chewed his lip. "Sir, Vipers don't have a stun setting."

"I _am_ aware of that, Captain." Adama nodded, with just the hint of a smile. "Your team will activate the decoys and then rendezvous at the asteroid base. I expect you realize I want to occupy their forces, not destroy them. As a result, this will be time sensitive. Quick in and out."

"They may not take the bait if they're aware we scanned them." Apollo noted.

"They went after your ships readily enough, and Bojay's patrol saw no sign of them when they brought back Ensign Szabo's. I believe the spheroids are essentially their alarm system, if not activated, they are blind to our presence. We've seen no evidence of any other sentinels. I'm willing to bet they're greedy enough to take another chance."

Apollo smiled. "You sounded like Starbuck there, for a micron."

"I'm always willing to bet on Human nature, Apollo." Adama replied. "And I'm well versed on both its good points and its bad."

----------

The word had come down from the bridge. Starbuck was still out there somewhere, and Boomer had every intention of joining the strike force that was going to find him. He just had one thing to get out of the way first.

He opened the heavy steel door to the interrogation room, looking conspicuously over his shoulder before stepping inside. It clanged shut, and he heard the lock snap back into place. He looked directly at the prisoner. Borka sat on the single bench that lined the far wall. His eyes narrowed as he looked the lieutenant up and down, his eyes finally resting on the blaster that Boomer's right hand had settled on.

"What do you want?" Borka spat out. A fine sheen of sweat covered his face, and trickled down his temples.

"Answers." Boomer replied, leaning back against the door.

"I don't know anything." His body tensed.

"Be that as it may, you _are_ going to tell me where Ensign Luana is, and what you did with Oriana's body." He was putting all his cubits on Ama, hoping to God she was right about what she had told Lia. The necromancer had _sensed_ that Oriana was no longer with them.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Borka claimed, but his jaw tightened visibly.

"Kaden said it was an accident, but that _you_ killed Oriana. He also said he doesn't know where Luana is. Seems to me, either you work alone, or your partner is setting you up to take all the blame. Frankly, buster, I'm betting on the second."

"This is felgercarb." Borka's eyes flicked to the door, then back to Boomer. "Where are the Blackshirts?"

"One of them took Kaden to the Chief Opposer's office to make an official statement. The other is in the turbo flush. He looked a bit bunged up to me, so I think he'll be a while. I told him I'd keep an eye on you." Boomer glowered at the man.

"What's this to you?" Borka asked, his voice a bit hesitant. He was fairly certain that the warrior wouldn't shoot him, but still, the man was built like a brick mong house. And he still remembered the damage the nearly naked and somewhat lighter Lieutenant Starbuck had done to both he and Kaden on the triad court. He was reluctant to mess with this one.

"Ensign Luana is a personal friend of mine." Boomer took a couple steps closer, his eyes narrowing as Borka jumped to his feet reflexively. "If you don't tell me where she is and what you did with Oriana, you won't make it to tribunal. I promise you that." Boomer lowered his voice to an almost sepulchral whisper. "You _don't_ mess with Colonial Warriors. We take care of our own."

"You can't lay a hand on me! It would mean the end of your career."

"Me?" Boomer asked, wide-eyed pointing to his chest. "I wouldn't think of it." He banged on the door twice sharply, standing to the side.

The door swung inward to reveal four large, black, hairy . . . simians. Or, on Borka's further reflection, four men dressed in simian suits. "What the frack is going on?"

The largest man only grunted as he advanced.

"You won't get away with this!" Borka screamed. "I'll have all your insignias for this!"

"Insignias?" Boomer asked with a derisive laugh. "What would you tell them?"

"That you guys . . . dressed up as simians and beat the mong out of me!" Borka responded, backing into the furthest corner.

"Do you honestly believe that a tribunal would believe that Colonial Warriors would debase themselves that way?" Boomer chuckled. "I'm surprised you'd humiliate yourself to that extent. No. On second thought, maybe I'm not."

"They'll know you had something to do with it! You were left in charge! The. . .the security monitors . . ." Borka argued desperately, trying to disappear into the wall as they approached him as a phalanx.

"Funny, they seem to have malfunctioned," said Boomer, looking up at the ceiling lights. "We've called technical, but hey," he looked back at Borka, "you know how short spare parts can be in the Fleet."

"You won't get away with this!"

"If I need to take a bump on the head for an alibi, it'll be worth it." Boomer's face then grew deadly serious as he looked to the others. "I want him damaged enough to regret this for the rest of his life . . . _don't_ kill him." He turned sharply on his heel and left the room, slamming it shut on the screaming behind him.


	47. Chapter 47

"Uh, tell me again what kind of doctor you are?" Starbuck asked Ryan from where he lay on the cot, as the Earthman held out his hand for the cup of distilled koivee. Dayton had told him his simple plan for both of them getting to the Control Center. The Colonial Warrior didn't like it, but there was really no other way. Now . . .

"I," said the other, leaning back on his heels, "have a doctorate in Electrical Engineering, and a bachelor of science in Engineering Physics." Ryan told him as he wrinkled his nose at the harsh smell of their special home brew.

"Uh . . . look, Pal, where I come from that doesn't exactly qualify you to do surgery."

Ryan held the cup in front of him with a grin. "It's my experience that qualifies me, not my education."

"You mean you've done this before?" Starbuck asked hopefully.

"Uh . . . well, actually I mean I'm an Honorary Fellow of the Canadian Aeronautics and Space Institute; a Member of the Association of Professional Engineers of Nova Scotia, and the Navy League of Canada; an Honorary Member of the Canadian Society of Aviation Medicine; a Graduated Member of the Four H Club; a perpetual Boy Scout of Canada; and a Member of the International Academy of Astronautics. Not to mention my lifetime memberships in the Radio Shack Battery of the Month Club and the Tim Horton's Coffee Club, and . . . " He puffed out his chest in pride, "I _even_ have a special discount on DVDs coming at Crazy Mike's Video because my card's almost filled up. All right?"

Starbuck winced as he heard the others break into laughter. "Just great. What was that medicine part again? Give me _some_ hope, Ryan."

"Remember Starbuck, this was your idea." Ryan reminded him as he put the cup to his lips and tossed back the shot of alcohol.

Starbuck let out a deep breath as he watched the man choke and sputter, then pound his chest and wheeze, "Christ Almighty, I needed that." Then, "You better have one too, Starbuck."

"Dayton . . . " Starbuck muttered anxiously.

"He's just jerking your chain, Lieutenant. C'mon, Ryan. Get on with it." The NASA Commander ordered.

"Just waiting for my vision to clear, Commander." Ryan grinned as he poured some alcohol over the knife to clean it.

"Ryan . . . " Dayton growled.

"Okay. I can see again." Ryan reassured them. "I'm going to clean off your stomach. This is probably going to sting like Hell."

"I take it_ Hell's _a bad thing . . .?" Starbuck sucked in his breath as the alcohol hit his exposed tissues. "Frack . . . maybe you _should_ give me a shot of that stuff. What do you call it?"

Ryan poured out another dose. "Asteroid Whiskey. It's not Crown Royal, but it's the closest thing we have to it." He handed the cup to the warrior. "It's all in the breathing technique. Exhale through your mouth before you take a shot, then breathe in your nose afterwards."

Starbuck looked at him skeptically, suspecting a _s_pecial breathing technique could only denote an especially evil concoction. "What's the alcohol content?"

"One hundred and eighty percent." Ryan grinned. "Bottom's up."

"Come again?"

"Just drink it."

He blew out a breath and tossed it back as directed, reflexively sucking in another gasp of air as the vile substance hit the back of his throat. The heat went straight to his gut, but then back up his throat as he gagged and coughed, sputtering while trying to catch his breath. Tears poured from his eyes and he became aware of someone pounding him on the back.

"I said, breathe in through your _nose_." Ryan chastised him. "You really need to work on your technique."

"Lords . . . " Starbuck gasped as he felt the man push him back against the cot.

"All right. Let's get this over with. You better hold him still, guys. It's been a long time since I dissected that fetal pig in high school." Ryan told the others.

Dorado, Dayton, Baker and Porter moved in, flanking Starbuck. He could feel hands pressing down on his shoulders, arms and thighs. Dickins watched from his cot, shaking his head with a look of revulsion on his face. Rooke was already asleep, oblivious.

"Try and take deep breaths, Lieutenant." Dayton told him.

"Just be quick." Starbuck replied, trying to relax his body. He watched Ryan pour another full measure of Asteroid Whiskey on his hands to clean them.

Porter muttered something indecipherable and Dayton nodded. He took a raw piece of koivee and held it up to Starbuck's mouth.

"Bite down on that."

"_That?_ What the frack for?"

"Because we're out of bullets," said Ryan, deadpan.

"Don't happen to have a rock instead, do you? An old rag? A dead lizard? A Cylon blaster rifle?" Starbuck asked ruefully, even as the Commander shook his head and wedged the root into the warrior's mouth.

"Here we go." Ryan muttered, pressing down on Starbuck's abdomen and palpating the lump that he knew was the Obediator. He took a couple deep breaths, wondering once again how being a farm boy qualified him to do this. Helping a few cows, sheep and horses deliver their young was a far cry from sticking a knife into a human being. "It hasn't migrated far from the insertion site. Just about three inches."

Porter asked a question in his native tongue. Ryan replied in kind, nodding.

"Wha . . .?" Starbuck asked from around the root.

"He suggested we try and push it back from the outside. There will be less of an incision that way." Ryan replied. He applied pressure to the lump, trying to coax it to move. He could feel the Colonial Warrior tighten up his abdominal muscles and suck in a breath in response. "Breathe."

Starbuck let out a breath and quickly drew in another as his abdomen burned in discomfort. On the plus side, it was one Hades of lot less painful than the Obediator firing.

"It's stuck. I'm going to press harder, but it'll be better than slicing you open another four inches." Ryan told him, meeting the man's eyes. The smaller the wound, the better chance the warrior would have of recovery. If they could pull this off without stitches, all the better. After all, the only 'needle' they had was old, dull and brittle. He lay one hand flat on Starbuck's stomach to steady himself and pushed hard towards the insertion site with the other, manipulating the Obediator as he went with his fingers. The warrior tensed from head to foot, and gasped in pain. "It's working!" Ryan encouraged him, as he felt the sudden tearing of metal from tissue, and hoped he hadn't done any serious damage.

"Fr . . k." Starbuck mumbled around the root, feeling tears once again course down his cheeks and sweat beading on his body.

"Give him a minute, Ryan." Dayton asked.

Starbuck shook his head furiously. He spat out the root. "Do it."

Ryan nodded, watching Dayton reinsert the koivee. He met the Commander's eyes and muttered in English. "I felt a tear. I just hope . . . "

"It's kind of like childbirth; there's no going back. Finish it, Ryan." Dayton replied, also in English.

Ryan nodded, resolved. He switched back to Standard. "This is it, people. Hold him tight." He positioned the knife at the wound and sliced through already raw tissue, extending the entry site by about half an inch to facilitate removal. He could feel Starbuck react to the pain, arching his body as he moaned aloud, but Ryan pressed on, manipulating the Obediator to the site, and applying pressure with the edge of his hand in a scooping motion. The piece of metal popped out. "Got it!"

He held the red-stained implant up to the light. It had a number of tiny filaments extending from both ends, which seemed to retract into the nucleus, but was otherwise smooth on all sides. From experience he knew the projections conducted some kind of shock wave from the main unit which essentially stimulated any sensory neurons to cause pain.

The others released the warrior, and he drew up his knees and rolled on his side, reflexively guarding his stomach with both hands as he spat out the well bitten root. Blood trickled through his fingers, as Starbuck took deep, steadying breaths while gazing up at the implant. "I don't know what a fetal pig is," he muttered between gritted teeth, "but I can sure sympathize with the bugger."

----------

The heavy metal door clanging into place had choked off Borka's 'answers' in the interrogation room of the Security Office. Boomer stood outside the door with an eye on his chrono and waited.

This was _not_ how he normally did things, but then he didn't usually deal with civilian scum like Kaden or Borka either. _Five centons_, he promised himself. That was all. Then he'd go back in. Mind you, four men could do a lot of damage in five centons.

Willem had insisted it wouldn't take that long to terrorize the hoodlum into talking. He was already nervous, and the added suggestion that Kaden was pinning it all on him would be enough to put Borka over the edge. Apparently, Caprica City Civil Security handled things a little differently than the rest of them. Whatever it took to get the information they needed, Willem seemed more than willing to do it. Of course, this wasn't Caprica City, and the head of Security might have something to say about it. Then again, Brogan was suspiciously absent, so perhaps not.

The door swung open, and a burly simian stepped out, shutting it behind him. A black, furry hand pulled the mask from his head, revealing Reece. He was sweating profusely.

"How'd it go?" Boomer asked, noting the constant babble in the room while the door was open and the blatant cessation of screaming.

"He cracked like a Skorpian nut." Reece grimaced, wiping the sweat from his face. "Oriana's dead. Kaden got rid of her body at the _Malocchio_'s Waste Recycling Facility. Ensign Luana's still there. Borka was supposed to finish her off, but apparently discovered his 'conscience' as he was doing the deed."

"Then she's alive?" Boomer asked, suddenly hopeful.

"I don't know for sure, Boomer. The fracker _welded_ her into an old corroded waste pipe which was due to be transported to the Scrap Ship. She was bleeding badly when he dumped her there." He started to climb out of the heavy costume.

"So he wouldn't kill her himself, but was willing to leave her there to die. What a humanitarian." Boomer snarled, suddenly regretting not staying to help with the simian persuasion techniques. "When are the pipes scheduled to be moved?"

"No idea. I'll comm Castor and get him on it. Ensign Lia is still with him."

"I need to run. I have a final briefing before launch. When you find her, can you send word to the bridge to let us know?" Boomer asked.

"Of course. And Boomer . . . thanks for your help with this. It wouldn't have had the same impact if one of us had set it up. It had to look like revenge."

"I understand. I don't necessarily agree with it, but I understand it. How _is_ Borka?"

"Barely a mark on him. He was telling us all we needed to know before . . . " Reece stopped his narrative. "Suffice it to say, he's fine." He lowered his voice. "Look, I don't usually operate this way. You _know_ we're breaking regs here . . ."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Reece." Boomer assured him as held up his hands, turning to go. "I didn't see a thing."

----------

Bex stomped around the Viper as their mechanic squirmed in the cockpit, trying to figure out why the ship wouldn't start up. Qamar had been at it for hours. Hours that Bex could have been racing through space in an ultra-modern state-of-the-art fighter. "Well?" he yelled up for the third time in fifteen minutes.

A muffled voice shouted something back at him, but he didn't catch it. He clambered up and stuck his head inside. "What?"

"You know I'm still learning these birds! Give me some time to figure it out." Qamar had gone back and forth between this new ship and one of the others to compare them. He suspected the Colonial Warrior had done something to stymie him, but he was determined he'd figure it out without anyone else's interference.

"If that festering piece of crap did something to this ship, he'll bloody well die regretting it, he will." Bex snarled as he looked at the ship's innards. The control and side panels were out of place, and the interior systems were laid out for all to see. He scratched at his beard, pulling a gnarled piece of koivee fiber from it. "You do know how to put all this back the way it was, don't you, Qamar?"

His answer was a cool glower. Then he spoke: "Bex, if you kill him, then he's useless to us. It's not like we have a lot of ships to prey on out here. We need the labour." Truthfully, they would likely need the Colonial's expertise with the fighter, but not until Qamar had exhausted a few more possibilities.

Bex considered his words before responding. "I'll give you another hour. Then I'm dragging his sorry ass back here to fix it." He retreated back to the flight deck.

----------

Apollo leaned against his fighter as Silver Spar Squadron launched. He checked his chronometer, knowing they would be following shortly.

Bojay and Sheba's wings would plant the decoys, allowing sufficient time for the pirates to leave their base to investigate. Then Blue Squadron would move in. They were betting on the pirate forces being limited, since the spheroids appeared to do their fighting for them.

He could see Boomer and Jolly talking quietly by the shuttle. They both seemed more agitated than usual before a mission. Then again, they still hadn't found Luana.

Castor had arrived at the Waste Recycling Facility on the _Malocchio_ as a multitude of old, corroded pipes were being loaded for transportation. Of course, he had put a stop to it immediately, but then came the bad news. They had already sent out two loads. One had made it to the scrap ship, _Hephaestus_—on a transport where they was no pressurization in the cargo hold—and the other was still in the loading dock.

Ama had apparently gone ballistic.

Security had split their forces, sending half to the loading dock while the other half searched the remaining pipes in the waste facility. The Empyrean Guard joined the effort. There was no point in searching the _Hephaestus_ for now. Luana couldn't have survived if she made that journey.

Apollo sighed as he grabbed his helmet and started climbing up into the Viper. His was still being assessed system by system for possible damage which evidently took longer than the human variation of the exam. He squeezed his hand into a fist as he climbed into the cockpit, thankful that the residual tingling was finally gone.

He could see Boomer give him a thumb's up as he scaled his own fighter. Soon, they would be on their way to invade an enemy base, with nothing to go on but the data from Sheba's scan. A full frontal ground assault with no idea where Starbuck or any of the _Pegasus_ pilots might be, if indeed, they were even there. They were taking a lot for granted on this one, simply to find out about the fate of the _Pegasus_ and the legendary Commander Cain. _Oh, who are you kidding?_—he thought, knowing the fate of the missing Battlestar could be vital to the Fleet's ongoing journey and ultimate survival, but it honestly wasn't the foremost thing on his mind.

Finding his best friend _was_.


	48. Chapter 48

The Zone.

Roughly one hundred metrons of potential agony for any man who tried to cross it with an Obediator in place. It was all that separated the pirates and the prisoners.

Starbuck once again glanced up at the conductor units, housed far above their heads on the craggy cave walls above them. He had initially thought that by destroying these units, he would disable the Obediators, but Dayton had informed him otherwise.

The cyclatron in the control room powered all the conductor units, not only the Zone's, but also the mobile units most of the pirates seemed to carry to discipline their captives. It was key to eradicating their base's inner defensive system. Just as the Dynamos were the key to their outer defensive system.

And that was why he was about to carry Dayton across the Zone.

Normally, the thought wouldn't even phase him, but right now his body was begging for rest, nourishment and some really effective pain meds . . . not to mention a pair of comfortable boots. He glanced down at the material swathed around his battered feet and secured with the multipurpose koivee fiber. He had an uncomfortable feeling it recently belonged to some poor bugger who no longer had need of it. Ironically, _most_ of the others were now wearing similar 'footwear'. At least it was better than nothing, which was the obvious preference of a few.

He sized up the NASA Commander once again as he mentally prepared himself to cross the Zone. Thank the Lords, Dayton had been on a diet of koivee for thirty yahrens, for his build reflected it, plainly once that of an athlete, with his gaunt face and thin frame. Starbuck pondered for a moment cutting off the man's long queue, but rationalized it likely didn't weigh _that_ much.

His hand guardedly rested on his stomach, as he listened to Dayton's men jabber to him in Earth talk. Ryan had insisted on putting in a couple stitches when they considered he would be lugging their Commander a considerable distance. The fear was he would herniate something or open the wound even further. Starbuck had watched skeptically while they soaked a strand of koivee, recently removed from Porter's mouth—apparently it also made good dental floss—in the horrid liquor. Sagan, the strange barb they had used as a needle had been so dull it felt like someone was jabbing him with a stick while they pulled the 'stitches' through his skin. It had hurt like Hades Hole, but at least it worked.

"Ready?" Dayton asked, as his men finished clapping him on the shoulder and shaking his hand.

"Not really, but let's get it over with." Starbuck replied, lightening the statement with a slight smile when Dayton looked him over appraisingly. "Think light thoughts"

"I'll do my best . . . if you in turn promise to move as fast as possible." Dayton responded.

"Done."

Dayton lifted a hand in enquiry, "How are you going to lift . . .?"

Starbuck stepped towards him, pulling Dayton's arm over his left shoulder and heaved the Commander's body across both shoulders to distribute his weight in a firefighter's carry. The warrior sucked in a breath, as his recently sliced and diced abdomen protested the additional burden.

"Let me check your gut," Ryan told him, noticing the grimace.

"It's fine," Starbuck assured him, adjusting his grip on Dayton, his mind already focused on the ordeal ahead of him.

Despite the assurances, Ryan stepped in front of him, pulling up his filthy tunic, and checked his recent stitch work. The tissue was inflamed and a small amount of dilute blood seeped from the wound, but the skin edges remained intact. A clean bandage would have been nice, but just wasn't available, and the lieutenant had insisted he had every intention of being back on his base ship within twenty-four hours, so he really couldn't care less. Ryan nodded, satisfied. "It's holding. Check your watch. We're giving you twenty minutes to disable the cyclatron, then we're coming through the zone."

"Watch? Minutes?" He paused as he looked at the man, letting out a sigh and shaking his head. He still hadn't quite gripped some of their lingo. "You got that, Dayton?"

"I got it, but the blood is starting to rush to my head, so if you don't mind . . . " the Commander grumbled.

"Right. Let's do it."

Starbuck felt a few encouraging slaps to his back, not even hearing their words, as he started out at a brisk walk. He could feel Dayton's body convulse in pain as soon as the entered the Zone, and the man clung to his body like a bone crushing Serpens from the jungles of Mazuria. He broke into a jog.

One hundred metrons really wouldn't take that long. Mere microns under normal circumstances. But these circumstances were anything but normal, and he stumbled after stepping on a jagged rock with his inadequate footwear. He cursed, and wondered why in all the yahrens this place had been in operation, they had never bothered to level the damned surface. Dayton was grunting in pain, and Starbuck readjusted his load, trying to watch more carefully for further hazards as he picked up speed once again.

His thigh muscles burned as if he was running the last leg of the Tylinium Man Competition. Sweat poured from his body, and he refused to acknowledge the rest of his symptoms of exhaustion, instead, training his eyes on his final goalAfter all, the rest of these fellows were in far worse shape than he was. The unforgettable and inspiring words of his first yahren Academy drill instructor came back to him:_ Move your astrum, Starbuck, or I'll personally kick it from here to Aquaria._

Dayton's body suddenly relaxed. Starbuck staggered to a stop, leaning over and dumping the man in a heap on the ground. He dropped to his knees beside the Commander, gasping for breath as his lungs burned, his stomach reeled, and his recent meal of roasted rotting root and Asteroid Whiskey threatened to make an abrupt reappearance.

Dayton rolled onto his back, his hands held protectively over his aching abdomen. He reached over and grabbed Starbuck's arm, nodding at him in approval. "Good job."

"Nothin' to it." Starbuck rasped, wiping the sweat from his brow with his sleeve, as the cheers of the others echoed around the cavern. "Let's move out."

----------

They had already come up empty at the Waste Recycling Center. The sickening sensation in the pit of Lia's stomach was getting increasingly worse, as she both helped and watched the last of the waste pipes in the _Malocchio_'s cargo bay get checked for her younger sister. Her eyes met her godmother's and she recognized sorrow mingled with disbelief staring back at her. That left only one more possibility and they were well aware what a trip to the _Hephaestus _in a non-pressurized cargo hold would ultimately signify for any human

Castor spoke briefly with another Security Officer before approaching them. He walked slowly, as if that would somehow delay the inevitable encounter. Lia steeled herself for his words, determined not to turn into an emotional wreck.

"We'll send a team to the Hephaestus to begin looking over their load." He dropped his eyes from the ensign's, uncomfortable with the stark pain he saw etched in her features. "I'll comm ahead and have the Scrappers start searching through the load."

Lia blinked back the sudden moisture that pricked the back of her eyes. "I want to go with them, Castor."

Castor chewed his lip as he once again assessed the determined young woman. "You know she couldn't have survived . . . how about we just . . .? "

"No." Lia cut him off. "I still want to be there for her." She swallowed the lump in her throat, as a lone teardrop trickled down her cheek. Absently, she wiped it away.

"As do I," Ama added, her voice uncharacteristically subdued. She closed her eyes and slightly shook her head, before turning her back on them to study the dispersed load of pipes. "I need to see her . . . " her voice cracked as it trailed off.

"All right," Castor replied, understanding that they needed the kind of closure that finding Luana's body would bring them. "Let's go."

_----------_

Bex's anger had simmered for hours as first Torg had returned from the coordinates the warrior had given them, only to reveal that there was no Colonial fighter or additional prisoner waiting there for them, then Qamar had been unable to fire up the latest addition to their force of ships. Starbuck's interrogation swirled through his mind repeatedly. He had thought they had broken the Colonial, coercing the relevant information out of him through a combination of the Obediator, and a good old-fashioned beating. But now he realized they were being played for idiots by a pro.

He stormed towards the tunnels, his mind set on forcing the warrior to repair his ship and then repeating the interrogation. An array of possible torture techniques his father's father had relayed from the good ole days, before the Obediator had been introduced, filtered through his mind_. I'll be nailing his goddamned balls to a chair, so I will! Just like Gramps would have done._

"Bex!" Torg's voice called out.

He whirled to find the older man on his trail. "What?" he snapped angrily.

"Dynamo two just energized! Maybe the other ship didn't get away after all." Torg smiled, his ego assuaged at the possibility.

"Bloody hell, Torg, I was going to find Starbuck. Can you not go get her yourself?"

"You're the flight leader of the Rovers. Lead." Torg answered briefly and crisply, his eyes boring into the younger man, well aware of his penchants for afflicting pain and cruelty. The hot head needed a mission to cool off, before he killed their latest labourer.

"He played us for fools, Torg. Not only did he lie about the coordinates, he's disabled that beauty of his." Bex waved angrily in the direction of the hangar bay. "I feel it in my bones."

Torg chuckled. "Then he's more of a man than I gave him credit for. Don't worry your ugly puss about it, Bex. There'll be a rematch, to be sure. After we pick up his partner and beat the everliving tar out of him in front of Starbuck, then the lad will perhaps understand that we mean business."

"I'd rather beat the everliving tar out of Starbuck." Bex complained.

"You'll have plenty of opportunity over the years, my boy. You need to learn patience. That's something your kin understood, Bex. But you don't seem to. There's so much more pleasure gleaned from match and rematch, than by murdering someone outright." He thought of his numerous encounters with Dayton. The man had been lying through his teeth for over thirty years about coming from a different star system and a different time, but each confrontation was a welcome diversion from the daily routine. "Besides, we need the manpower. You know it."

Bex hesitated as he turned back towards the hangar. "Do you think it was true when he told us they launched without permission to find their shipmates?"

"Maybe. Maybe not." Starbuck had lead them to believe that there would be no one looking for him—that this Commander Cain would have them keelhauled for disobeying orders and using their own initiative _if_ they made it back. Torg's first concern was that the second fighter had somehow escaped, and returned to the _Pegasus_ for help. But that was unlikely, considering the ship's power source would inevitably shut down repeatedly after being energized by the Dynamo. It made sense that Starbuck had merely mislead them about where he towed his friend's ship, before returning to lie in wait to track down their base and his fellow pilots. "Time will tell. Or perhaps, his wingmate will." Torg laughed again, wondering if the warrior's partner was as wily as Starbuck. He looked forward to finding out.

----------

Sheba released Wilker's Remote Repair Unit from the fuselage of her Viper, and transmitted the signal that would get it close enough to the spheroid to commence phase two of the attack. She knew Bojay would already be on his way to rendezvous with Apollo at the marauder's base, and her own wing would arrive only centons behind them to act as the third wave of the task force.

For the umpteenth time in her career, she couldn't help but wonder if they had her here, backing up the others, because she was a woman. It had been an lifelong battle to prove to herself and others that she was as good as any man—as good as her father was at her age.

Apollo had complimented her abilities time and time again, but she couldn't help but notice he didn't seem to find it necessary with Starbuck, Boomer, or Bojay. The perception seemed to be that a woman _shouldn't_ be as good as a man, so if she came close, or exceeded their expectations, they had better tell her about it.

Of course, Bojay would have pointed out that had anything happened to her back when she'd been part of the Fifth Fleet, despite Cain's belief in his only child's abilities, the Commander _still _would have annihilated those responsible, so maybe some of the reticence had a basis in . . .

She shook it off, as she usually did, trying to wrap her mind around the current mission. Realistically, they had her backing up the captains because they knew she would be having difficulty focusing on the job at hand. How could she _not_ be distracted by the possibility of finding out what happened to the _Pegasus_. To her father. Hades, Cain could even be there . . .

She shook her head, knowing that was unlikely. If Commander Cain was missing, his crew would have the _Pegasus_ parked on the asteroid's doorstep, blasting away at it piece by piece until the Living Legend was returned to them to lead them onward to victory and military glory. She smiled as familiar feelings stirred in her, the itch for the fight, the thirst for conflict, which made her feel as indestructible as her famous father. Her missing father.

But not much longer.


	49. Chapter 49

So far their luck had held. Not a soul did they see on their way through the tunnels, as they hugged the walls and cautiously made their way towards the Control Center. Then again, they hadn't really expected to. The Zone had eliminated the need for guards . . . up until now.

"Just up ahead." Dayton whispered, carrying a broken wrench he had scavenged from the hangar on his last 'interview' with Torg.

Starbuck nodded. The footwear might not be much in the way of protection, but it was certainly silent, and he knew it would be unlikely that the attendant would hear their approach over the _whir_ of the electronic equipment in the room.

" . . . Dynamo twelve. Launch and investigate, Torg." The attendant was saying.

The crackle of the comm came to life with a reply. "On our way, Krebs. Out."

Starbuck crept closer, his fingers caressing the hilt of the knife, which was secured to his thigh. They had already discussed the take down. As long as they could approach the pirate from the rear, they would merely knock him out and restrain him. If the man turned around and had an opportunity to call an alert, it was Starbuck's job to stop him. After all, he had the knife.

He had become adept with the weapon since perfecting his skills in the informal hand-to-hand combat classes he had started, while grounded due to a leg injury sustained on the planet Empyrean sectars ago. After he had returned to full flight status, Luana had taken over the organization of the classes as a leadership project and expanded upon it. She had encouraged both cadets and warriors alike to contribute their skills and experience in a wide array of defensive and offensive techniques, making up for the obvious hole in their abbreviated training program. Now a full third of Colonial Warriors carried knives as a secondary weapon and tool.

Dayton had made it clear that Starbuck would be his second while securing the Control Center. Though the warrior's adrenaline was plainly carrying him through the ordeal, the commander realized that the lieutenant was hovering between a desperate need to make the plan—his only chance at escaping a lifetime of servitude—work, and the reality of a battered and exhausted body. And he wasn't exactly being realistic regarding how they would approach this . . .

Dayton held up a hand to signal Starbuck to stop and hang back, as he crept through the Control Room. Krebs' back was to him, and the man was occupied with his equipment. It couldn't have been better really. He lowered his wrench and advanced on one of the pirates who had made the past thirty years of his life a living hell.

He had given this a lot of thought. They actually had a chance this time. The best chance they'd had since Zuskin had escaped. He had turned over the idea of simply disabling the cyclatron and trying to take over the base, but he truly had no idea how many people he was dealing with. Torg had always avoided talking about the 'civilian' contingent of the asteroid, if indeed there was any. It was an unknown entity. Dayton knew how to reach it, but had never been any further than the bifurcation of passageways that led there.

No, their best chance of escape lay with the Colonials. If Starbuck could actually fly his ship out of there and contact his Battlestar, as long as the rest of them could hold off the pirates or snag their own ship, they might conceivably get their first taste of freedom. Of course, that might all change once they met the leaders of these people who seemed so intent on finding his home planet. He wasn't so sure that he wanted them leading this race of machines, these Cylons, which had destroyed their own home worlds, to his precious Earth.

Why was it that mankind was so blind to the obvious? That they couldn't learn from their mistakes? Even light-years away from home, he could see these people trying to set the wheels in motion for history to repeat itself. They needed to destroy their ancient enemy, or at the very least be assured they had lost them completely, before they guided them to a planet where there wasn't the technology to provide an adequate defense, never mind a decisive military victory. Providing, of course, when they arrived, that the year was reflective of his own era.

_Too many unknowns, Dayton._

In a split second he made his move. Remembering his old Air Force Special Operations Command training, he grabbed Krebs, and with a vicious twist, he snapped the attendant's neck. The man simply collapsed noiselessly in his chair, one less obstacle standing between them and freedom. He pushed him from the chair, the limp body tumbling to the floor in a heap, and took his place. "Mess with the best, die like the rest," he said to the still-twitching corpse.

Starbuck blinked in shock. "What the frack . . . ?" he growled, striding towards Dayton and grabbed the commander's shoulder, twirling him around in his chair. "You were supposed to _knock him out_! Not frackin' _kill_ _him_!"

"Oh please, don't be naïve, Lieutenant. Do you want him coming at us from the Control Center later on when he wakes up? Every enemy we leave alive behind our backs is a threat! It's kill or be killed! Wake up and smell the Starbuck's, Starbuck!" Dayton glared at him, knowing this confrontation would be coming. He had not understood the Colonial's strange insistence that they merely disable the enemy. He had pretended to consent to it to save time spent arguing over two diametrically opposed points of view.

"I thought we already settled this!" Starbuck exploded. They had argued back and forth and had come to an understanding . . . only kill if there was no other recourse. At least that was _his_ understanding. "What in Hades Hole in wrong with you, Dayton! You didn't have to . . ." His gaze flickered back and forth between the Earthman and his victim.

Dayton leapt to his feet shoving the younger man by the shoulders. His determination and anger energized him as he watched the Colonial stumble backwards regaining his footing quickly. "Don't you _dare_ judge me! You spend thirty years of your life in my shoes being humiliated and abused by these assholes, and then come and talk to me about ethics!"

Starbuck hadn't expected the strike, and his tired, aching body reacted slower than normal. Survival instinct kicked in a milli-centon later, and his hand automatically gripped his knife, ready to pull it and use it if necessary. "Yeah, well, _you_ spend a millennium being persecuted by a sociopathic society bent on the elimination of Mankind, and _you _might learn to value _each_ and _every_ life. Today's enemies might be tomorrow's allies, when the Cylons come calling in this quadrant." He shot back.

Dayton ground his teeth, hearing the logic in the other's words. They were from vastly different worlds. His historic enemies had always been Human. Starbuck's people had moved beyond that, forced to overcome any differences and unite when faced with complete annihilation. It _would_ alter one's perception . . .

"We're wasting time. My men are going to move out in five minutes." Dayton muttered, noting the Colonial's hand on his knife. "If you're going to use that, I suggest you do it now." His eyes bored into the other, warning him it wouldn't be an easy encounter by any means.

"Just get on with it." Starbuck snarled back, striding towards the control panels. The timing was crucial; if the Obediators weren't disabled, the others would think they had been intercepted. "Which one operates the cyclatron?"

"This one." Dayton replied, moving over and flipping a toggle switch.

"That's it?" Starbuck asked.

"What were you expecting?" He leaned below the console, pulling away a heavy panel and revealing circuitry.

"An access code? I don't know . . . something more elaborate." Starbuck replied as he watched Dayton grab a fist full of wires and pull. Sparks flew around him as he continued to ravage the circuitry.

Dayton simply shook his head, intent on his task.

"Can you find the coordinates for the Dynamos?" Starbuck asked, looking over another control panel.

"How do you mean? I thought you just wanted me to deactivate them so you could fly out of here unhampered?" Dayton asked, scooting his chair over to where the warrior stood and situating himself in front of the keyboard.

"Just before you . . . killed Krebs, he was sending Torg out to investigate Dynamo twelve. _Something_ must have triggered it."

"Your friends?" Dayton looked up expectantly.

"Possibly. I'm wondering where Dynamo twelve is in relation to us."

"Where your friends are in relation to us." Dayton expounded, looking over the panel. "Just a sec." His fingers flew over the keyboard, and he shook his head in bemusement as he realized the it was almost identical to an old command line user interface he used in the eighties. It was archaic even by Earth standards. "Here we are. We even have a navigational star chart to pinpoint the coordinates."

Starbuck watched as the asteroid belt came up on the screen above them. Several red lights appeared spaced sporadically through the belt. "There's not as many of them as they'd have you believe."

"No." Dayton agreed. "I'm trying to find twelve . . . ah, there it is."

Starbuck nodded as one light began to flash. He pointed to their position on the chart with his knife. "We're about here. They're either on the other side of the asteroid belt, or they want the pirates to think they are." He frowned, trying to put it together.

"A rescue? I thought you figured they'd leave you for dead?" Dayton asked.

"Well, I'm a popular guy." Starbuck grinned in response, then shrugged. "Honestly, I thought they would. Maybe they found something . . . I don't get it." All along he had been torn between wondering if they would attempt to find him, trusting that he wouldn't activate his emergency beacon unless there was a damn good reason for it, or abandon him for making a bad decision that could put the fleet at risk. After all, following the Dynamo's attack on Apollo, it had really been his ego and temper that had demanded he try and avenge the Captain. Sure, he could rationalize that he was just trying to find out about the enemy's strength and their subsequent risk to the fleet, but when you blew the stink off his arguments, the rashness of his decision remained. "I guess we'll find out soon enough. Can you deactivate them?"

"What do you think I'm trying to do?" Dayton returned, still searching the data banks for the information.

"You got me." Starbuck leaned over him watching. "I'd be lost."

"Then you're glad I came?"

Starbuck hesitated before replying without much conviction. "Yeah, I guess."

"It's nice to be loved."

"Don't get carried away, Commander." Abruptly, the lights on the navigational chart went out. "Hold it! What did you do?"

Dayton looked up in surprise. "You mean it worked? How about that!"

Starbuck snorted in reply. "I admire your confidence."

"Blundering my way through life as usual. So, what now?"

"Scanners?" If there was a Colonial task force coming this way, it would be handy if no one found out about it.

"Rudimentary. The dynamos detect _and_ incapacitate any incoming ships. The squadrons move out to intercept, using their scanners. It's worked for so long, they haven't bothered upgrading to anything more sophisticated." He smiled as Starbuck shook his head in disbelief. "Really, it's true. Now, we were going to get you to your fighter and have the guys attack the hangar as a diversion. Your friends might or might not be coming to our rescue. What do you think?" Dayton eyed the air duct above them, which was going to be their route to the far end of the hangar. He smiled as he spied an old grill tucked behind the control consoles. It was covered in grime, rusted and bent out of shape—much the way it had been twenty-eight years ago when they had gone through it the first time. He then reached down and pulled off the panel beneath the console, once again ripping apart the circuitry, snapping boards and yanking wires, to prevent the reactivation of the Dynamos.

"We better go ahead with the plan. Just in case we're wrong about the _Galactica_." Starbuck told him, briefly thinking about using the comm to try and contact Apollo . . . or Boomer. Whoever was out there . . . maybe. Of course, it would only reveal their escape to the pirates listening in. He moved to the comm suite, ripping the microphone off the panel, effectively eliminating their ability to talk to their patrol. He also eyed the duct. "Can you boost me up?"

"Yeah." Dayton moved beneath the duct, bending over and linking his fingers for the warrior. He leaned against the wall to steady himself. "Think light thoughts," he murmured, recalling the warrior's earlier words to him.

"Fluorescent or ambient?" Starbuck asked, resting his foot in the commander's hands and placing one hand on Dayton's shoulder and the other against the wall.

"Smart ass. One, two, three!" He heaved the warrior towards the duct.

Starbuck grabbed the edge of the duct, pulling himself upward. It was taking far too much effort to do something that he would normally consider simple. Of course, the fact that every muscle in his body ached, and his gut felt as though it was about to rip wide open again, didn't aid his cause. He gritted his teeth, even as he felt Dayton giving his feet an additional push providing some much needed momentum. He scrambled into place.

"Are you going to make it?" Dayton called up after him.

"Yeah, yeah." Starbuck replied, wiping sweat from his eyes and manipulating his body, turning it around in the cramped space. He held a hand down to the commander. "Come on."

Dayton nodded, backing up to make a running start. He looked back at the control console ruefully. It had been Zuskin who had managed to find a schematic of the duct system the first time around, ensuring they found their way to the hangar. He was somewhat sure he could remember the way, but . . .

"Dayton!" Starbuck urged him. He rubbed his eyes, feeling the overwhelming fatigue wash over him. They all knew his wound was getting infected—they had seen the inflammation—but he was hoping that any further symptoms would wait until he escaped. Hades, he was counting on it. "Let's go!"

Dayton drew a deep breath, taking a running start and leaping towards Starbuck. Fingers locked around wrists simultaneously, and Dayton heard the younger man grunt as he pulled upward. The commander grasped at Starbuck's clothes, breaking their grip and clambering over the lieutenant's prone body until he rested atop him in the duct. He could feel the Colonial's chest heaving after his efforts; the man was fading fast. "There's no time for a nap, lieutenant. We have to move."

"Well then, get the frack off me Dayton," he muttered, _willing_ himself to keep on going when his body only wanted to meld into the surface beneath him. "I'm through carrying you."

----------

"Who wants to go first?" Dorado asked, standing at the edge of the Zone. They had scrounged the area to find anything that could be used as a weapon: pipes, chains, and even rocks. Lords, sophisticated warfare it was _not_. What he wouldn't give for a Colonial blaster! He looked over his shoulder at his wingman, knowing Rooke wouldn't be much help in the upcoming fight. He was barely holding his own, his body bent over in constant pain from whatever damage that bloody implant had done to him. His eyes were glazed and unfocused as he tagged along behind them, more out of habit than any apparent intent. Dorado needed to get the lieutenant to the _Galactica_ for medical treatment ASAP.

"Short straw?" Ryan asked, reaching out with one hand as though he could somehow detect whether or not the cyclatron had been shut down.

"Paper, scissors, rock." Baker inserted, stumbling over the language he didn't really feel comfortable with. Why the heck couldn't the others just learn English? After all,_ they _were the majority in the prisoner population!

Dickins snorted at them in disgust, stepping past them with a heavy elbow-shaped pipe in his hand, and then spreading his arms and turning in a circle to illustrate he was fine. "Let's move," he told them hoarsely in English, before turning on the spot and striding away.

"He doesn't say much, but I like him anyways." Dorado grinned at the others, shrugging at the words as he followed behind. Despite knowing that Dickins was proceeding unimpeded, the captain's stomach still tightened reflexively in long-ingrained anticipation of the Obediator.

"The quiet ones always surprise you." Ryan agreed, knowing Dickins would fight like a madman to gain his freedom. The man was already psyched for the confrontation ahead. Blood would be shed as thirty years worth of revenge was exacted. There would be justice _and_ liberty for all . . . or however that went south of the border.

----------

_Sit on hands, insert thumb in bum._

While processing scrap metal on the _Hephaestus_ wasn't the most enthralling job, at least it kept Technician Halls busy from 0900-1700 centars, five days a secton—six when they were busy, and while working overtime wasn't always appreciated, what else was there to do?. He nonetheless felt as though he was making an important contribution to the Fleet. Today, however, was unusual to say the least.

He didn't know why, and he didn't particularly care either, but their routine had been interrupted by Colonial Security, and if there was one thing Halls, a middle-aged, long-discharged, crippled ex-warrior lived by, it was regularity and routine. So, here he sat, whiling away the centars, waiting to be given the 'go ahead' by his supervisor.

Supervisor Thurman was growing increasingly impatient, as his work schedule was put further and further back. He was a company man who had worked in scrap his entire life, from his first position as a labourer up until the present one in management, and he took the position seriously. He had promised the Fleet's Machinists delivery of enough recycled metals to continue the manufacture of some much needed replacement parts for some of the oldest tubs throughout the Fleet, ensuring the continued high standards that Commander Adama had put in place for routine maintenance.

Now, because of Security, he was going to be letting the Commander down.

Thurman huffed as he eyed the heavy waste pipes, many already loaded on the shredder-conveyer for processing. Halls was beginning to pace along the line once again, clearly as disgruntled as his super with the inaction. The other men obviously felt the same way. They were accustomed to working hard, and they were rewarded for their pains by an appreciative boss. There was still another dozen pipes waiting to be loaded, not to mention the other two shipments _still_ on the _Malocchio_.

And now, Security Officer Castor had just 'ordered' him to examine the contents of every pipe. What the frack did he think was inside waste pipes? Lords, just because he didn't wear the neatly pressed uniform of the Colonial Security Forces and macho blaster holster, he was suddenly elected to dissect Human waste! And where did Castor get off thinking he could order Thurman around anyway? He could feel his blood pressure rising in reaction to the entire situation.

He stomped off towards Halls, reasoning they had examined the current load thoroughly enough. Hades, they had been staring at it for over a centar while they waited for Security to enlighten them as to why they were in a holding pattern. Halls was currently running his hand over a pipe as he peered inside, a perplexed look on his thin face. "Halls, let's get started," Thurman told him.

"Thurman, this is kind of weird, the valve on this one here looks like it's been welded . . . "

"So what? The compacter will take care of it." Thurman snapped, not the least bit surprised the pipe had been repaired in the past. Old and worn out, it was well past its prime, and had doubtlessly been patched together many times over. He sighed as he headed off towards the others, aware that his personal space was soon going to be overrun with Security Officers. Maybe he shouldn't have signed off on the Officer while he was still talking over the comm. Then again, maybe Castor could learn to treat someone of his experience with a little more respect. Oh, well, they could have it out face to face soon enough. In fact, he was looking forward to it. But in the meantime, the Scrappers could make an attempt to put in an honest day's work.

----------

"Dammit, bloody hell . . ."

"What is it, Bex?" came the voice over his speaker.

"Hardly a prize," snarled Bex. He dumped his scans to the other ships.

"Bit on the small size, wouldn't you say?"

"Oh really, ya think?"

Bex could feel the heat of anger slowly suffusing his face. Not much smaller than the Dynamo just beyond it, the piece of metal floated serenely in space, mocking him. In a burst of pure childish fury, he fired, blowing it to space dust. "It's a bloody decoy, that's what it is!" He trailed off in a string of vile curses. "We've been set up! Return to base!"

"Hey, I just lost the energy reading on the Dynamo, Bex. She just fizzled out."

With a snarl and more curses, Bex hit his turbos, as he registered the last statement, leaving the slower Rovers behind. He thanked the prescience that made him take one of the Colonial Fighters, instead of his usual bird. He knew Starbuck had been lying! _Knew it!_ The _Battlestar_ _Pegasus_ was obviously back in the area, and was clearly searching for their base. Knowing that the Colonial's tracking signal hadn't been deactivated until well after Starbuck had been captured, he was aware that they had a damn good chance of finding it, or even knowing where it already was. Hence the decoy.

"Rover Leader to base. Come in."

Nothing.

"Rover Leader to base. Get off your ass, Krebs! This is important!" More of nothing. "Krebs? Damn you, you little barf bag, answer me!" But Krebs didn't respond. Only _hiss_.

He could feel the throbbing of his pulse at his throat. That familiar tension that crept over him when he was about to pounce on an enemy. This was no freak malfunction. The Dynamos could only be deactivated in the Control Center and now Krebs wasn't answering. It didn't bode well.

How the Hell could Starbuck make it past the Zone? And how could he coordinate an attack from the inside? Unless . . . unless this whole thing had been a setup from the start! Starbuck was a plant! Get him inside and penetrate the base . . .

A growl of fury erupted from his throat as he realized the extent of the Colonial's machinations. This battle would be more like his Gramp's day, before the Dynamos and Obediators had turned them into glorified nursemaids instead of the regaled buccaneers of yore. Oh, when he caught up with Starbuck, he would enjoy every second of teaching him that you didn't cross Bex. The Hell with _match and rematch_! He'd exact payment with each scream from the warrior's throat and each splash of blood from his mutilated body. Only then would his wounded pride be assuaged; his ancestors be satisfied.

"Come in Torg. Come in anybody!" Bex commed, banging the console with his fist in urgency. There was always someone fiddling about in a cockpit in the hangar. Someone would pick up his signal. "The Dynamo was a diversion. We're about to be attacked. Repeat, we're about to be attacked!" He swore again, as the channel stayed silent. He considered turning back to his group, thinking there would be strength in numbers, when something beeped. He looked down at the scanner. _"Bloody Hell!"_

_---------- _

They had laid low just out of scanner range, as first one squadron and then the other left the asteroid base to investigate the decoys. Apollo checked his chronometer, nodding in satisfaction. Both task forces were far away by now, leaving the base depleted in manpower. Everything was going exactly to plan. He powered his Viper back up. "Okay, Blue Squadron. Let's move in."


	50. Chapter 50

"What in Hades Hole did they do to her . . . ?" Starbuck muttered in horror as he gazed out at his Viper from the air duct.

"What?" Dayton asked from behind. It had taken longer than he had anticipated to get there; longer than he perhaps remembered from the first break out so many years ago.

Apparently, Starbuck's little plan to disable his fighter had gone awry, when the pirates decided they would try and diagnose the mechanical difficulty and repair her themselves. "She's in pieces. The bastards took her apart! She's in frackin' pieces! The boray-licking snitrads, if I could get my hands on the guy who . . . " For a split micron, his stomach leapt into his throat and his hope died . . . then he gave himself a mental shake and started to take a good look around.

"How _many_ pieces?" Dayton asked, as he both sought to stop Starbuck's tirade, and tried to squeeze into the space over the Colonial to get a look.

"Too many." Starbuck returned with his teeth clenched angrily. He stretched out full length and pressed himself to the surface as he felt Dayton trying to share the small space above him. "There's another ship though." One of the first fighters he had seen when he had followed the other pirate ships to their base. It was no doubt slower than a Viper, having only two comparatively small engines, but would be sufficient to get him out of there.

He hoped.

"Ah, a Rover. Do you think you can fly it?" Dayton asked, leaning over Starbuck's shoulder, but trying to keep out of sight.

"I have yet to meet the ship that I can't fly." Starbuck returned matter-of-factly. "No matter who built her."

"You're a cocky son-of-a-gun, you know." Dayton observed, a faint smile hovering on his lips. There was a time when he would have made the same claim.

Starbuck shrugged. "A _Rover_, huh? Where'd she come from?"

"_Rover_ is just the name of the squadron. It's pretty damn rare to see birds of a feather around here since most of the ships have been scavenged." He glanced down at the mystified countenance on the lieutenant's face. "Similar ships. That one," he nodded towards the Rover, "belonged to a smuggler named Phineas. He said he was from the Frodo System, but where that is I have no idea."

"I do." Starbuck told him. "Did Phineas happen to escape?"

"How would you know that?" Dayton asked in surprise.

"I've seen illustrations of your ship and your star system before."

Now Starbuck had talked about the Colonials' search for Earth, and he had assumed that was how Starbuck had recognized their system, but . . . "The _Endeavour_? Where?"

"On a penal colony called Proteus."

"Penal colony? You mean prison?" Dayton's heart sunk as he tried to come to terms with Zuskin's possible fate.

He nodded. "A prisoner that they referred to as the Silent One drew them." He looked up watching the array of emotions cross the face above him. It didn't altogether make sense. Why would Phineas know Earth's star system so well? Why would he draw things that seemed to be exclusively related to Earth? Especially if he was from the Frodo System.

"Did you meet him?" It felt like Dayton's heart paused mid beat as he awaited the answer.

"No. I think he died yahrens ago." Starbuck paused as he watched a brief flicker of pain cross the Commander's features. "Phineas?"

"I don't think so. I think it was our payload specialist Colonel Benjamin Zuskin, Israeli Air Force."

"Remind me to ask you what an Israeli Air force _is_, when we have more time to talk about it." Starbuck murmured. _And what kind of name is Benjaminzuskin, anyway? It was just as bad as the rest of them. Long winded bunch, those Earth men. _ "What about those other ships? The Wraiths, I think they were called. Four of them."

"The Wraiths, now that's interesting technology. I honestly don't know much about them, never having seen them in flight. _You_ could probably tell me more about them."

"Well, they're clearly designed for reconnaissance. They're small, lightweight, maneuverable, and surprisingly fast . . . probably because they don't seem to carry any weapons. At least none that I could see. They send out some kind of wide-spectrum jamming signal that completely scrambled my sensors until I got ahead of them. That's obviously their main defensive system. They seem to be the retrieval team."

Dayton nodded. "I don't know where they came from, but I heard that the beings that manned them expired as soon as they were exposed to our atmospheric conditions. Apparently, Torg was furious."

"Beings? Not human?"

"I don't know for sure. I wasn't privy to the information being in the tunnels. But we sure as hell got it from Torg."

"Punishment?"

"Yeah. Them dying seemed to really piss him off but good. None of us were ever sure exactly why, but he took it out on several of us. Beatings. The Obediator." Dayton fell silent a moment. "Yeah, he really got his jollies that day."

Starbuck nodded slowly, completely understanding what a beating from Torg meant. It had taken all his will not to break down and blurt out the truth. Lords, after several yahrens of that . . . He sighed, shaking his head and swinging his attention to the hangar crew. "Where's our distraction?"

As if on cue, a ruckus broke out at the opposite end of the hangar, just inside the tunnel entrance. Starbuck could hear men yelling and cursing, but was unable to see who was involved. The hangar crew dropped what they were doing, and sprinted towards the melee.

"Let's go." Starbuck whispered urgently, but Dayton was already climbing over him, and lowering himself to the tarmac. The lieutenant followed, as quickly as his aching gut would permit, dropping down beside him. They raced together towards the fighter.

"Are you sure you can operate her?" Dayton shouted up to him as the warrior climbed aboard the small ship.

He quickly looked over the control panel, as he climbed in the fighter. As he usually found when he was in a cockpit, whether it was up-to-date Cylon or Proteus relic stock, the instrumentation varied, but, if designed for the basic Humanoid form, was essentially consistent with every other ship he had ever flown. "No sweat," he grabbed the helmet he found tossed carelessly on the floor by the pedals.

"I'm going to help our guys then. Good luck, Lieutenant!" Dayton shouted, turning to sprint towards the action.

"You too, Commander!" he replied. He bent to study the instruments a few moments, then pulled on the helmet and hit the switch that would hopefully close the canopy. It hissed as it smoothly lowered into place, like a billowing blanket on a sandy beach. "Figures," he muttered thinking of his own jerky canopy on his Viper. He reached for a bank of switches, and the control panel flickered to life. He fired up the engines and heard the beginning rev of the dual thrusters . . . then they choked and died.

Once again he went through the motions, starting up the engines. Once more they died. "Frack!" he cursed when he was suddenly distracted by a loud tapping on the canopy. He peered back over his right shoulder to see Torg perched on the side of the fuselage, a malignant smile pasted on his face, and a familiar-looking Colonial blaster pointing at Starbuck's skull.

"Get out!"

----------

Dickins had been merciless as he lead the small group of prisoners towards the hangar and their ultimate freedom . . . or death. _Free, either way._ They had proceeded silently and anyone who had the misfortune to stumble on their path simply died. Quickly and efficiently.

All the men seemed astonished at the efficacy with which Dickins could kill with his bare hands. As for the former US Navy Captain, he seemed almost possessed as he choked or snapped the necks of his victims . . . and those were the fortunate ones.

One man he had beaten to death with the heavy pipe he carried. Dorado had stepped forward to stop him when the pirate was clearly dead, and still the bludgeon found its target again and again, blood splattering over Dickins' face, as well as tattered clothes. Ryan had grabbed Dorado's arm, pulling him back, simply explaining that "Parr had it coming".

Following that incident, it had been eerily silent until they were almost upon the hangar. A group of pirates was lying in wait for them, almost as if they were expecting them. Dickins screamed a battle cry worthy of the warriors of yore, and charged them like a madman.

At first they seemed struck dumb, as the clamorous lone man bore down on them, his friends following a moment later. The former sailor hurled the pipe from his hand, the rusty weapon sailing towards the enemy in a blur. It hit one of the pirates in the knees, and he went down with a scream. Then Cargan raised his blaster, taking aim and firing. Though Dickins stumbled, he didn't falter, hurling his body through the air until he connected with the marksman.

"You missed," Dickins snarled in English as his fist connected with the pirate's jaw. "Payback's a bitch, huh?"

Blind fury surrounded him like a heavy mist, as it had since they had left the Zone. This was his chance to get even. He didn't even care if he made it out of there. He really had little interest in joining these Colonials, and doubted he would ever see the USA or his loved ones ever again. Oh, he had every intention of killing as many of these bastards as he could, in retribution for years of diseased degradation and torture. Only through the spilling of their blood could his pain be eased . . . his tormented soul be freed . . .

----------

_The third time's the charm, Bucko_. Though he wasn't much of a praying man, Starbuck could _always_ whip up a real good one for the Goddess Fortuna at his most desperate moments. Not long or wordy, but always with just the right amount of "_I'll promise to do anything you want if you just . . . "_

He held Torg's gaze for a long moment, before turning back to the control panel and trying to fire up the engines one more time. Freedom was a strong motivator, and death, but a welcome alternative to a lifetime of slavery. Then there was the fact that the astrum-wipe was wearing his favourite flight jacket, broken in after yahrens of fastidiously resting his elbows on the bar of the Officer's Club. The thrusters coughed, whirred, and finally roared to life. Grinning, he adjusted the throttle, rewarded by the small fighter shaking with power. He looked down at the weapon's switches . . .

Torg's hunch had been right when he sent the other Wraiths ahead without him to check out the triggered Dynamo. He had known in his gut that there was something going on when two Dynamos in opposite quadrants alarmed. He also strongly suspected that this new guy would somehow be behind it all. As much as he was tempted to just blow the canopy apart, and the man too, Starbuck would make a far better example to the others if he was still alive. He would flay the skin from every inch of the Colonial in a poignant demonstration to the others of _exactly _what happened when you crossed Torg! Then he'd draw and quarter him for good measure.

Torg's grin widened, as it occurred to him that Bex would probably try to flay _him_ alive if he shot the hell out of the man's canopy. "Cut the engines, or I'll fire!" he hollered.

Starbuck heard the blaster tap the canopy once again. His hand gripped the control stick and he could feel an icy determination settle over him. Suddenly, Dayton's actions which had seemed so inhuman at the time, made complete sense. He smiled back at Torg, pointing behind the pirate, and yelled, "Me first!"

He saw Torg's eyes go wide with realization and then sudden fear, as the detestable man turned his head to look directly into the sights of the Rover's starboard gunnery. That was the last thing he saw as the warrior activated his weapons.

This side of Hades Hole, anyway.

Blood splattered the canopy, and the partially incinerated corpse fell off to the side, but Starbuck barely noticed. He was already shuttling down the runway, once again familiarizing himself with the fighter's systems, as he gained speed and hurled through the small opening into the asteroid field . . .

And almost directly into a head-on collision with a Viper! Instinctively, he banked sharply to the starboard, thanking his lucky stars that the other pilot pulled up. He punched up his scanners, reading the array of fighters before him. "Yeeeeeehawwwww!"

"Enemy fighter, this is Captain Apollo of the _Battlestar Galactica_. You are ordered to power down your ship at once. Surrender now, we have you locked on target." Apollo could see Boomer positioning himself behind the small fighter, Jolly on his wing. The marauder's ship strangely started waggling from side to side. "Uh . . . Boomer . . . "

"Holy frack! Is that you, Bucko?" Boomer asked, a grin stretching from ear to ear.

Starbuck sniffed, adjusting his channel slightly to clear the interference. "In the flesh." He swallowed the suddenly large lump that unexpectedly rose in his throat. "Nice timing."

"Are you okay, Starbuck?" Apollo asked the uncharacteristically quiet man.

"Never been better." He sucked in a deep breath and let it out. "Dorado's in there, Apollo, with his wingman, and about five guys from Earth. They're battling it out with the hangar crew. The hangar's virtually abandoned right now. We have to go back in and get them out."

"Earth?" cried the Strike Captain. For a moment, he was stunned. "Are you sure?"

"Of course, I'm sure!" Starbuck retorted testily. "Don't you think it would have come up in the conversation in the last sixteen centars?"

"Uh . . ." Now _that_ was more like Starbuck.

"Skipper!"

"Go ahead, Jolly."

"I have that same Viper that left with the first squadron on my scanner heading back this way."

"Just the Viper?"

"Affirmative. No other ships on that vector." Jolly replied.

"I can take him, Apollo." Bojay's voice piped up. "He's closer to our position."

"Frack that," Starbuck interjected, instinctively knowing who manned the ship, "he's mine."

"Starbuck, you're flying a fossil." Bojay informed him. "Push it too hard, and the rubber bands might break!" And they all knew he'd push it. He always did.

"Even so, I can still outfly that vermin-infested, boot-licking, mong-sniffing, waste-of-air pirate! Can you hear me, Bex?" He sneered as he located the incoming ship on his scanner. He changed course, heading for the interception.

"Aye, I hear ya, Starbuck," came a crackling reply. Even amidst the distortion, the man's cruelty came through the speaker. "And I'll be having a rare time of it proving you otherwise, when I blast your Colonial ass to Kingdom Come." He laughed. "I'll carve you up piece by piece, before I return to base and personally do the same to your friends."

"Starbuck, Commander's orders are to avoid . . . " Apollo started.

"_Screw_ the orders! Either shoot me down now, or let me take him on. Your choice, Captain." He could almost taste his fury at the thought that Bex would simply be left on the base with the other pirates. No, like Torg, this man had to pay for what he had done to Starbuck, and to the others. They, and this whole base, had to be destroyed. Blown to slag. No longer would they prey on any other unsuspecting victims. He took a deep breath. "There are men on that base that need help _now_, Apollo. Even if you bust me all the way back to ensign later, you can't stop me from doing what I'm going to do."

The comm was silent for the longest micron in the history of their friendship.

"Stay with him, Boomer. Okay Blue and Silver Spar Squadrons, let's move in."

----------

One-way valves didn't need to be welded shut. Ever. That defeated the purpose. Who would waste the filler metal? Who would waste the _time_? Or the energy?

Maybe someone learning how to weld. But on a _waste_ pipe? If methane gas remained inside, it was a great way to get your head blown off. Surely a Welding Ticket paid for a better experience than that, even in the Fleet.

And why in Hades had they been waiting all day to get on with the job? Halls knew Colonial Security had something to do with it. His supervisor had cursed them well into next secton as his face grew redder. Halls was waiting for the famous Thurman hairpiece to fly up into the hair and hover above the bald head, as he well and truly blew his top. He grinned at the image as he watched the first massive pipe enter the shredder. Soon, it would be scrap. And this one would follow. This weirdly welded one.

He jumped down from his control booth to take another look. This time he checked the opposite end. His weird hunch was right! That valve was welded too. It didn't make any sense, closing it up like some tin can. Why in God's name seal up a useless, corroded length of . . . unless . . .

An uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach had him reaching for his commercial blow torch and safety goggles. He could vaguely hear Thurman screaming in the background. It sounded as though Colonial Security had at last arrived, and were none too happy. Halls ignored them all and blasted the seams, heating them to well over three thousand degrees within microns. He cut the power and raised his foot, kicking in the valve with his work boot.

The stench of urine almost overpowered him. He held his breath and peered inside. "Oh, my God . . . "

A small, insensate form lay inside. A hood covered the head, and bonds secured the feet, and undoubtedly the hands too, since they were behind the back. He leaned inside, reluctant to touch the poor bugger, but an overwhelming need drew him closer, like the about-to-be-executed-victim in a cheesy, horror holovid.

He lay a hand on the chest, and it somewhat startled him to realize _it _was a _she_. But in that same moment of understanding, he also noted the chest was not moving, and the heart was not beating. She was dead. "Oh, my dear God . . . " He grabbed hold of her, and began to pull her out of the pipe.

"THURMAN! SOMEBODY! GET A MEDIC OVER HERE!"


	51. Chapter 51

Dayton realized their one saving grace was that the hangar crew wasn't exactly known for carrying weapons. He joined the melee of desperate men, grinning with surprise to see Rooke back in the here and now, and giving as good as the rest, as he straddled one man, pummeling him. His smile abruptly disappeared as he spied another man pistol-whipping Dickins with an apparently dead blaster, as an additional one held him down. The commander dove into the fray, knocking both men to the ground.

"Where the hell have you been?" Dickins yelled, in place of a 'thank you', as he rolled away and scrambled back to his feet. Blood poured down his face from an ugly gash above his eye, and he absently wiped at it, treating it as more of an inconvenience than an injury. "Did he get away?"

"He's away!" Dayton checked the insensate thugs. One was dead. He dropped the other, not really caring. He noticed a sudden new energy fill his men within hearing distance. "Starbuck made it!" he hollered to them all in English and then again in Standard, before dodging a strike to the head with a wrench.

"Well, then he's done his part, let's do ours!" Ryan growled. "Let's murderize 'em!"

A roar filled the air, and for a moment, they didn't realize it had come from the hangar, so preoccupied were they in their fight. Ryan turned his head towards the noise, an unease settling in his gut. "Incoming ships!" They were holding their own for now, but if more pirates joined the fray . . . God help them . . .

"It sounds like Vipers!" Dorado shouted, a grin spreading across his features as he caught his wingman's eye for an instant before returning to the battle. "Yeah! Vipers!"

Rooke whooped in joy his gaze switching to the hangar, not seeing the man coming at him from behind.

"Rooke, behind you!" Porter shouted, hoping the sense of alarm in his voice would make up for his lack of Standard.

Rooke turned too slowly, at first focusing on the Earth man, wondering what he was on about, before he recognized that _look_ on Porter's face. He began to pivot, but stars exploded in front of his eyes as the heavy bar slammed into the back of his head. The momentum of the blow drove him face first to the ground.

"Rooke!" Dorado yelled, driving an elbow crossways into a pirate's jaw, then bringing his weapon down on the fellow's skull, and watching him crumple before turning towards his fallen friend.

Dickins was already there, tackling the crewman who was about to finish Rooke off. They went down in a heap, and the crazed Earth man grabbed the man's head, repeatedly driving his skull into the surface. "How do _you_ like it? Tarmac taste good? Does it, huh?" He sneered, even as the man's eyes rolled back into his skull, and the back of his head cracked open like a rotten egg.

Another din from the opposite direction drew his attention. A further force of an equal amount of men, possibly from the rumoured settlement, were sprinting towards them. Obviously, one of the hangar crew had made it past them and had gone for help. Dickins grabbed up a pipe, howling in outrage, before sprinting to meet them.

----------

"Back off, Boomer." Starbuck warned him, as he spotted his friend coming up on his wing.

"Or what?" Boomer asked.

"Or I'll cut off your lifetime supply of Empyrean Ale."

"You really know how to hurt a guy." Boomer grinned. "Be realistic. You're flying a rusted coffin with several nails already driven into it, and you're going up against a maniac in a Viper."

"That's what I love about you, Boomer, your eternal optimism." Starbuck smiled, feeling the right side of his face crack where his face had collided with the tarmac over a half a day ago. "Look, this guy makes the Eastern Alliance look like the Academy Glee Club. They're pirates. They blast unsuspecting ships with their Dynamos, and then turn the crew into slaves to harvest the foulest excuse for food you ever tasted this side of that all-night café we found in Skorpia City. They also developed this torture device they call the Obediator to maintain order. Believe me, buddy, Bex deserves to die several times over, and any death he'll get in a Viper will be too good for him."

"Starbuck, even if you win, we can't afford to lose a Viper. Not this way. They're too precious."

"Well, if I can convince him to pull up and step out so we can take it home, I'm willing." He stated ruefully. "Besides, she belonged to the _Pegasus_, so _technically_ she isn't ours to lose."

Boomer sighed. "I'm still going to keep an eye on you. If you don't give him a run for his cubits, I _will_ intervene."

"Only on my word." Starbuck insisted.

"Starbuck . . . "

"Give me your word, Boomer." Starbuck's voice lost its usual light banter.

"How exactly did this turn around on me?" Boomer asked his canopy, shaking his head in bemusement.

"Lu will explain it to you . . . where is she, by the way?" It suddenly occurred to him that he hadn't heard her voice on the comm line. Or Lia's.

"Remember, it was her day off." Boomer adlibbed. "Probably out looking at sealing frippery." He regretted the lie as soon as it left his lips. He wasn't sure why he had an instinctive reaction to protect Starbuck from the truth, but . . .

"Yeah, right," Starbuck returned dubiously. Luana was hardly the 'frippery' type.

Boomer winced. No, he had to level with his friend, "Actually, buddy . . . "

"There he is." Starbuck cut him off.

"Do you have a plan?" Boomer asked hopefully, after a pause. The time to discuss Luana had passed. "Any plan?"

"I think I'll just wing it. Unless I can find a torpedo launcher somewhere on this bucket of bolts." He chuckled as he heard Boomer's answering groan.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"Never." Starbuck agreed as his friend's Viper pulled away. He checked his scanner once again, this time reorienting himself to the asteroid field. The unit had neither the range nor the resolution of the Viper's gear, but this close, he didn't need it.

"Prepare to die, Starbuck." The pirate taunted him as the Rover came into sight.

"I've been ready for yahrens, Bex." He replied casually. "It's Death that hasn't been ready for _me_."

"That's about to change, lad." Bex changed screens to his targeting system, finding the small ship annoyingly difficult to lock on as it to moved constantly from side to side. At a glance it seemed to be heading straight for him.

Starbuck kept drifting, all the time realizing the Viper would have a better range, and more fire power than the _Rusty Rover_. . . his own personal pet name for his ship. He smiled slightly as the two ships raced closer, wondering how long it would take for Bex to lose his nerve.

Bex cursed softly under his breath. He still couldn't lock on target. He fired anyway, anxious about the other ship's increasing proximity. As he suspected, he missed, but kept his finger on the button anyway.

"You are one lousy shot, Bex!" Starbuck chuckled, diving slightly to avoid the line of fire. Bex obviously didn't have the feel for a Viper, and probably hadn't recorded many centars in the fighter he was flying either. He was liking his odds. "I've seen blind men shoot better than you!"

Bex gritted his teeth as he corrected his course, but overshot his position and dove below Starbuck's trajectory, while trying to fire on him. Starbuck chose that exact milli-centon to fire his lasers, connecting with the Viper's fuselage.

"That's got to hurt." Starbuck taunted the man again, looking down on the ship as he passed over her. He checked his instruments. As he suspected, the Rover's lasers had less than half the power of the Viper's weaponry. It would either take several more hits at the longer range, or he'd have to get in far closer, to take down the better protected Colonial craft. He shook his head. No serious damage.

"I've had love bites more damaging than that shot." Bex returned, but all the same, it shook him. Nothing appeared to be wrong, other than the sudden shake when he was hit, but he wasn't altogether sure.

"Well, if your women are as ugly as your men, that's probably true. Assuming they're even the same species, of course." Starbuck smiled as an angry snarl filled the speaker. "Can you fly any better than you shoot, Bex?" Getting a sudden inspiration, Starbuck headed into a cluster of asteroids.

"Just watch me." Bex snapped angrily, as he turned his craft and pursued.

----------

An empty enemy hangar filling up with Colonial Vipers; it was a tactician's dream come true! Apollo pulled his blaster as his feet hit the tarmac, running towards the pandemonium arising in progress from outside the furthest exit. The internal attack by Dorado and the men from Earth couldn't have been better planned to coincide with their own strike. He could hear the pounding of Colonial boots falling in behind him.

"Weapons on stun!" he shouted, repeating the explicit directions he had given his warriors in the pre-mission briefing. He spared a quick thought for Starbuck, wondering how in Hades the lieutenant was going to take on a state-of-the-art Viper with that old stumblebum of a flying crate. Lord's sake, his grandfather must have still been in diapers when that thing was built! He shook it off, knowing Boomer would keep an eye on him.

He rushed through the opening in time to see a small force of bedraggled men being swarmed by another. He switched the setting on his blaster and fired one shot towards the ceiling as his men flanked him, their weapons also drawn. The sound reverberated through the tunnel. "Hold it! Get your hands in the air! Everyone!"

The Colonial Warriors moved in, surrounding the group as faces on both sides gaped in surprise. Men slowly separated themselves from their opponents and hands tentatively reached towards the ceiling.

"We need a med tech!" Dorado yelled, kneeling over the unconscious and emaciated Rooke and gently palpating the back of his skull. He could feel an enormous lump there which he knew could only be bad news.

"Greenbean, go back and comm Sheba to escort in the shuttle. We need the med tech ASAP." Apollo ordered him before reaching Dorado and dropping down opposite him. "What happened, Dorado?" He quickly looked over the haggard man before him who was but a shadow of the husky cadet he had known at the Academy.

"He was smashed in the head with something . . . a wrench, a bar . . . He has a lump the size of an ovum on the back of his head." Dorado looked at him worriedly. _Lords, to finally gain their freedom only to have Rooke die . . ._

Apollo nodded, knowing there was nothing they could do until the med tech arrived. "Anyone else?" he yelled.

"Over here!" Jolly hollered. He was already leaning over the supine man crumpled in a corner. The man coughed and sputtered, blood-tinged spittle covering his chin and anything else in its path, as he gasped for breath. An expanding sanguinous stain covered his ragged tunic, his hands held protectively over the obvious wound. "He needs a medic. Looks like he's punctured a lung."

"Dorado, we need to move out quickly. Who's coming with us?" Apollo asked.

"Just this group of us." Dorado motioned towards the other prisoners. _Former_ prisoners. Somehow he would have thought it would feel a lot better than this. Neither Rooke or Dickins looked like they were likely to make it.

"Then let's get the wounded to the shuttle and get out of here." Apollo rose to his feet. "What about Commander Cain and the _Pegasus_?"

"Wait a minute. What about _these_ bastards?" Dayton demanded, indicating the pirate hangar crew as he strode towards the captain.

"Look, your wounded need medical attention _now_. This is simply a rescue mission. Now let's move." Apollo ordered turning to help Dorado with Rooke

Dayton grabbed Apollo by the arm, swinging him around. "Listen, Buster, you can't let these people get away with what they've done to us. All of us." He looked back over his men, and pointedly at Rooke

"_You_ are?" Apollo asked, shrugging off the grip. He took in the man's bloodied rags and sunken eyes. He gathered by the man's bearing that the blood was someone else's, the eyes however, were most definitely his.

"Colonel Mark Dayton, US Air Force, NASA Commander for the Space Shuttle _Endeavour_."

"NASA?" Apollo asked in bewilderment.

"It's a long story, Apollo. Believe me, neither Rooke or Dickins has the time for it." Dorado assured him. He felt a hand grip his shoulder and he looked up from where he kneeled.

Bojay smiled weakly down at him, shaking his head at his mixed emotions; relieved and happy to see them, but horrified at their condition. "Thought you were dead, buddy."

"At times it might have been preferable." Dorado returned with an attempt at humour, gripping the hand briefly.

"Cain? The _Pegasus_?"

Dorado nodded. "Alive and well three sectars ago. I'll tell you all about it later. Promise." He switched his attention back to Apollo.

"I'm Strike Captain Apollo of the _Battlestar Galactica_." He told Dayton. "I already have my orders. We leave now. It's up to you whether you come with us or not." He leaned down, reaching beneath Rooke's arms, relieved to see Bojay gently pushing Dorado aside to take the lower body. "On three. One, two, three." Together they lifted the malnourished man with ease. He didn't even look back to see if the NASA Commander was following . . . whatever a NASA Commander was.

----------

The incessant beeping of the medical equipment was driving Ama a little barmy. She paced beside Luana's bio-stretcher as she waited impatiently for Dr. Salik to finish with his hectic preparations and come talk to her. Lia sat silently beside her sister holding Lu's hand, as she watched the rise and fall of her chest, artificially sustained by the ventilator.

"Ladies, we have to take her in now." Salik said, as he approached them in his surgical scrubs.

"Well?" Ama asked, wondering what the final result of the extensive brain scan revealed.

"Nothing's changed, Ama. It's a miracle the medical team was able to resuscitate her. As we thought, she has a subdural hematoma—a collection of blood putting pressure on her brain." Salik wasn't altogether sure how long the young woman had been without oxygen. The med tech had reported that she was already cool to the touch when they found her, but that could have been attributed to being transported through space in the freezing-cold environment of a non-pressurized cargo hold. In fact, that scenario _could_ have worked to her advantage, providing she arrested on the _Hephaestus_.

"I don't understand, I thought she ran out of oxygen." Ama interrupted, trying to comprehend the sequence of events.

"She took a blow to the back of the head at some point. Whether it was the lack of oxygen or the pressure on her brain which caused her cardiac arrest is a moot point. Either can cause brain damage. I need to do a craniotomy to drain the hematoma. Now."

"Doctor, what are her chances?" Lia asked, her eyes beseeching him to be direct with her.

"I'll honestly know that better after the surgery when I can determine the extent of the damage, and that's assuming she survives. I've already outlined those risks for you." He watched both women nod somberly and then motioned for Cassiopeia to help him move the patient into the operating room. "I'm sorry, but we really need to get her in now."


	52. Chapter 52

The Rovers were perfect for the asteroid field due to their smaller size, and surprisingly supple maneuverability. First, he needed to get the feel of his new ship, and then he had to fly the tail off of Bex.

Starbuck grinned as he weaved closer and closer to each outcrop of rock while he raced through the belt. There had been one spot in particular that would work to his advantage, if he could just find it again. He glanced down at his scanner seeing Bex in pursuit, but the man was dropping further and further behind. Obviously, he was having difficulty navigating the larger Viper through the increasingly narrow passages. Simply put, he lacked _style_.

"Hey Bex, where'd you go?" Starbuck ridiculed him. "At this rate, I'm going to have to pull over at the next pirate pit stop to wait for you."

"I'm right behind you, ass wipe." Bex snarled, accelerating in response.

"Funny, I thought that was my ion trail. I'm sure the Viper was bigger than that the last time I looked . . . unless you've severed some parts in the meantime." He chuckled as he heard an answering growl. The pirate had increased velocity again.

"You know, the Viper is the most sophisticated fighter craft known to man. It takes yahrens of experience, not to mention real talent, to really do her justice. Actually, it's a real shame to waste it on a mong-for-brains, lumbering troglodyte like yourself." Starbuck taunted again, laughing at the resulting tide of vulgar and disparaging remarks.

He monitored Bex's progress on the scanner as the Viper closed the gap between them. He abruptly deked beneath an asteroid and a burst of laser fire narrowly missed him, striking the asteroid and sending rock blasting into space.

"Getting sloppy, Starbuck!" Bex taunted. "Damn nearly fried your butt that time."

Starbuck smiled, letting the other man think so. He opened the fighter's throttles wide, getting every bit of power he could out of the Rusty Rover. He could feel her tremble as he whipped around the next asteroid, Bex hot in pursuit. "C'mon Baby, give me all you've got."

"That ain't a lot, when it comes to that old bucket. Believe me, I speak from experience." Bex told him, grinning with confidence as he narrowed the margin once again. _Just a little to the right . . ._ He lined up the Rover for the kill on the Viper's attack computer.

At the last micron, Starbuck veered off again. However, this time the laser blast was close enough to rock his small ship, and he frantically compensated to avoid crashing into another hunk of rock. He let out a deep breath. _A bit close, Bucko._ He could hear Bex laughing heartily on the comm. _C'mon . . . _

"No smart ass remarks, Starbuck?" Bex taunted him.

"Let me check my crib sheet." Starbuck grinned, pushing the small fighter just a little bit harder, coaxing every scrap of power from her old engines, until she was giving everything she was willing to give . . . and then he pushed her again. He was practically caressing the asteroid surface with his afterburners as he circled around it, closing in on the corkscrew tunnel that he had seen earlier that day from the other side of this particular chunk of rock.

He whipped the small fighter into a spin it was barely capable of without flying apart, careening in through the tunnel that was the only route out of there—short of stopping on the spot, turning around, and going back the way you came. He realized for certain that the larger Viper would never make it. It was a damn good thing he had decided against trying it so many centars ago he reflected, as he heard and felt the Rover's left wingtip scrape against the tunnel. "Goodbye, Bex. Say hello to Torg for me. He's saving a spot for you in Hades Hole." He whooped with exhilaration as he came through the other side, for the most part unscathed.

"What the fu . . .?"

A blood chilling scream filled the comm for a micron before it was abruptly cut off. Starbuck saw the ambient glow of the resultant explosion from behind him. He cut back on the throttle, easing up on the fighter before he overtaxed her engines permanently. After all, Boomer would _never_ blow an engine.

----------

Sheba hit the tarmac running as she dropped down from her Viper, and headed towards the task force carrying the two wounded men towards the shuttle. At first she had been furious that Apollo had relegated her to the third task force, defending the shuttle and vigilantly patrolling for an early warning if the marauder's squadrons should reappear. He had hidden behind his role as Strike Captain, giving her no opportunity to challenge him on a personal level, and she had been forced to maintain her professional decorum as the plan was quickly put in place for the attack. But as she went about her duties, she had found her mind wandering as she wondered if her father was still alive, and what had become of the Pegasus. She hadn't_ quite_ forgiven Apollo for his decision, but perhaps she understood a little better why he had made it.

Bojay stepped forward to intercept her. "It's Dorado and Rooke. They were lured into the asteroid belt by one of the pirate ships while on long-range patrol with Szabo. It was just the three of them. Cain probably never knew what hit them or where they disappeared to." Bojay told her, holding her gently by the upper arms and watching her eyes sweep anxiously from his face to their former shipmates, still on their way to the transport.

"Then he really _is_ alive." Sheba studied Bojay intently. She blinked as she felt the moisture welling in her eyes. "He really . . ."

"He is." Bojay grinned and pulled her into his embrace. "He really is." They both grinned ear to ear and he lifted her, twirling her in a circle as they laughed in pure indulgent joy for a precious moment. He set her back on her feet, catching Apollo's skeptical look before the captain disappeared into the shuttle with his charge.

"How's Rooke?" Sheba asked after a moment, stepping back from his grasp.

"Out cold from a head injury." Bojay put an arm around her shoulders guiding her towards the shuttle. "One of these pirates crowned him with a pipe pretty good. We'll know more once Giselle assesses him."

Sheba hesitated as she took her first really good look at the rescued people. She felt her stomach want to heave in revulsion. "Lords Bojay, they look like refugees from one of those concentration camps we heard about at the Academy." She whispered. "It's . . . awful."

"Yeah, no wonder that guy, Dayton, wants revenge. C'mon, let's go see how they're doing."

----------

"Nicely done." Boomer stated, as he formed up on Starbuck's left wing.

"Thanks." Starbuck nodded. He should have felt elated; instead, he was only tired. Dragged out, bone-weary, out of fuel . . . at least figuratively . . . "How's she look?" He knew Boomer would be checking out the damage on the small craft.

"Surprisingly intact. You know, _I _wouldn't have gone through there, not in a million yahrens." Boomer observed.

"Your point is?"

"I'm curious. How certain were you that you'd make it?"

"Certain? Hey, I'm here. Bex isn't."

"C'mon, I'm serious."

Starbuck shrugged to himself. "I don't know. Ninety-odd percent."

"And you still tried it." Boomer shook his head in disbelief. "Of all the cock-eyed. . ."

"I didn't _try_ it, Boomer, I _did_ it." Starbuck grinned, grimacing slightly when his raw facial skin cracked again.

"But you weren't altogether sure . . . "

"Doesn't matter. The odds were right. I knew I'd make it." He said with certainty.

"I've seen you lose at Pyramid playing your odds."

"But not at life." Starbuck pointed out. "I play life much more seriously."

"_Play_ life? Do you listen to yourself?"

"Hey, sometimes I'm the only one who does." Starbuck chuckled in response. "How much time do we have?"

"Not much. Orders are to rescue any detainees and get back to the _Galactica_. We're avoiding a conflict with their squadrons if possible."

"Has the shuttle moved out yet?"

"No. I just heard from Giles. They've loaded two wounded, and five walking and talking. Giselle has to stabilize one of them before they lift off."

"Who?"

"One of the Earth guys. I didn't get a name."

Starbuck hesitated as he thought about it. "Then there's no plan to destroy the pirate base?"

"No. Quick in and out only."

"While it certainly has its charms, I always prefer a more prolonged encounter." Despite his light-hearted words, it still left a sour taste in his mouth. "Still, that base is pretty well hidden, Boomer. It wouldn't take much for the Cylons to convert it for their use, if they ever come this way. And from what some of the guys were saying, there _are_ inhabited systems close by. Whether by the Cylons in the future, or the pirates right now, it's a danger to any human population."

Boomer nodded his silent agreement. "Commander's orders, Bucko, although once we get back, we can bring that up. This place is awfully well hidden. If we hadn't found that Viper from the _Pegasus_, we probably wouldn't even be here right now."

"Viper? What Viper?"

"Crashed on an asteroid. At first we thought it was you. Jenny and Dr. Paye discovered otherwise. Some Ensign Szabo. It's a long story, but the long and the short of it was the Commander knew we had an opportunity to find out what happened to the _Pegasus_ if we attacked the base and freed any potential prisoners . . . including you."

"Wait until he meets the astronuts from Earth." Starbuck smiled. The Commander would flip . . . or maybe just rock forward on his feet with his hands entwined behind his back, as he smiled in pleasure.

"Astronuts?" Boomer asked with a smirk. It sounded like something they should serve at the bar in the OC.

"Yeah. Something like that." Starbuck paused. "Apollo didn't really order us to report to the base, or to the _Galactica_."

"That's one possible interpretation. What are you getting at?" Boomer asked.

"There are ten Dynamos between here and the edge of the asteroid field. They're deactivated for now, but that doesn't mean they can't reactivate them and make life miserable for some other poor schmuck who might fall into their trap."

"So you want to blast them to space dust so that doesn't happen."

"Exactly. You see things so clearly, buddy." He checked his scanner. The _Galactica_ was just on the edge of his range. He glanced at the fuel gauge.

Boomer sighed. "Starbuck, I don't think you want to take the time to do that. I should have told you earlier . . . "

"Boomer, this is important. If we're not going to decimate the bastards, then we have to at least put them out of business."

" . . . but you cut me off." Boomer finished, letting the silence on the line speak for him.

Starbuck sighed heavily. "What?" he asked impatiently.

"It's about Luana. I really think you should get back to the _Galactica_ as soon as you can."

"Boomer . . . " A cold dread abruptly seeped through his body, gripping him by the throat and choking off any further thoughts of Dynamos _or _pirates.

"I'm really sorry, buddy, but . . . "


	53. Chapter 53

He needed a Viper.

The Rover would get Starbuck through the asteroid field efficiently enough, but once he hit open space, he needed the speed of a Colonial Viper to get back to the _Galactica_ as soon as possible.

"Hey, if you blow that bird's engines, you're going to take even longer to get back to the marauders' base." Boomer reminded him, knowing the small ship was once again being pushed beyond its limits. "A lot longer."

"They're pirates." Starbuck corrected him, as the Rover shook around him. There was nothing left to coax out of her, she was giving all she had to give. He eyed the gauges knowing he couldn't push her rattletrap engines any further. "Frackin' pirates!" He slammed a fist down on the panel in frustration.

"You okay, buddy?"

"What in Hades was she doing, Boomer? It was just Draco's word against mine. It wasn't anything worth _dying_ over!" He was gripped by tension as his fear . . . no, his _terror_ of the unknown seemed to compress his entire body, squeezing him until he thought he would be crushed beneath its undeniable force.

"Starbuck, we don't know for certain that Luana's . . . dead. We hadn't heard anything when we launched. They should know when we get back."

He let out a deep breath, shaking his head in disbelief. His heart was pounding against his chest wall, and the constant thud was radiating down into his gut and up into his skull. "Why would she . . .?"

"She wanted to clear your name, Starbuck. She loves you, you dolt."

He shook his head, forcing back the tide of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. She had gone up against Fausto's goons simply so Starbuck wouldn't be known for throwing a few triad games! Where did she ever get the idea that she had the wherewithal to compete with someone of Fausto's experience? That damn stubborn streak she had, coupled with that irrepressible devotion to the people she cared about  
. . . Lords, hadn't he taught her anything at all about looking out for number one?

He wiped at his face, blinking furiously, and wondering why his abrasions chose now to seep all over the place. _Just great, you need to get back to the base, and you can barely see out of the cockpit! _Instead, images of Luana haunted him. The first time he had seen her on Empyrean; finally finding her after almost losing her on Alrin; making love with her in the equipment room of the Fitness Center . . . _Stop it!_

"She's going to be okay." Boomer reassured him, hearing the sharp, uneven breathing over the comm line. "She's tough, Starbuck. And smart."

"A lot of good that'll do her in an non-pressurized cargo hold." He snapped.

"Starbuck . . . " Boomer truly didn't know what to say in response.

_You're just tired, Bucko._ That was it. He didn't usually react like this. As days from Hades Hole went, it was definitely at the top of his 'personal worst' list. Or was it the bottom? He wasn't even sure. Every square centimetron of his body ached, some worse than others. His head was pounding. His gut was twisting into knots. His entire body was quivering in exhaustion. His uniform was crisp from filth, but only where it wasn't damp from sweat and blood. He knew he must smell awful, but his olfaction receptors had centars ago been spontaneously incinerated from being exposed to the pungent aroma of Dorado and Company.

"There's the base." Boomer told him. "Pick up a Viper and we'll be in range of the _Galactica_ in no time."

"Yeah." Starbuck murmured, knowing he had to get it together. Apollo would take one look at him and ground him unless he could convince him he was better than he looked. Better than he felt. Better than he _was_.

----------

It was a little bit like walking into a museum of aviation, as Apollo entered the Earth Space Shuttle. '_Endeavour'_ they had called her, though of course the symbols on her side, E-N-D-E-A-V-O-U-R, meant nothing to him. Dorado had told him that it had been the ship that the men from Earth had arrived in some thirty yahrens ago. And as Giselle began to thrust a tube into Dickins' lung to drain off the accumulation of blood that was suffocating him, Apollo hastily decided to investigate.

He shook his head, wondering what it had looked like when fully operational, before the marauders had stripped it bare of anything they felt was useful. Even so, as he sat in the one remaining seat in the ship's cockpit, and ran a hand over the accumulated dirt on a console, many of its instruments long gone, a strange shiver ran through him. It was a magical, almost mystical experience, stepping into a ship that to him symbolized one huge, meaningful step closer to their journey's end. It was surreal.

Another world. Another life. A real future.

_Earth!_

For the first time since they had begun this unwanted trek through the stars, he could almost see it happening in his lifetime. And now that they had discovered that the _Pegasus_ was still on the scene, he could feel his rising excitement at the prospect of perhaps destroying the pursuing Cylons, and well and truly leaving their ancient enemy behind.

Perhaps when Boxey was a man, he would be able to raise his own family on a planet that wasn't subject to the ongoing warfare that Apollo had known his entire life, and his ancestors for a thousand yahrens before him. Oh, to spend resources exploring the universe, instead of fleeing through it, raping it for necessary resources to sustain them on their quest.

A faint noise behind him drew him from his reverie. Apollo turned to gape in horror at the sight before him. "Starbuck?" he breathed, as he rose to his feet.

"Oh, come on Apollo," replied the other, his voice raspy and rough. "I can't look_ that _bad."

But he did. Apollo stood shaking his head as he took in the sight. Hair plastered to his head with grime and God knows what else; the right side of his face scraped and bruised; his right eye not far from being swollen shut; his tunic and pants torn and stained with blood; and his feet wrapped in some strange material which left dark brown stains as footprints. It didn't take a podiatrist to know that it was probably blood.

"Sagan . . . " Apollo mumbled striding towards his friend. "What in Hades did they do to you? I thought you said you were okay!" He grabbed Starbuck's shoulders, and at once regretted it when a brief flicker of pain crossed his friend's features.

"Just a little initiation rite. I _am _okay. Now." Starbuck assured him, stepping back from the measuring gaze and uncomfortable grasp. "So this is an Earth ship," he said lightly, stepping away. A fake lightness, and they both knew it.

Apollo let him retreat, noting how stiffly the lieutenant was moving. He glanced over to see Boomer stepping inside the shuttle. Both lieutenants gazed around with interest at the remaining multitude of broken screens, dials, switches, and seemingly endless instruments—at least what was left of them.

"How did it go?" Apollo asked after a moment.

"He might look like he just went nine rounds with Saxosus Montanus, but he still out-flew Bex." Boomer replied, vouching for his friend. It had blown his mind when he saw Starbuck slowly climb down from the Rover in the pirates' hangar, obviously hurting, but then when his friend had turned around and pulled the helmet off . . . Lords, Boomer had been tempted to turn his blaster on a few of those snitrads himself. From the reaction of the rest of Blue Squadron, most of them felt the same way. "Starbuck told me a few things about how they operate around here. Maybe we should reconsider blowing this place to Hades Hole, Apollo. Besides, if the Cylons ever took over this place, there are apparently a few inhabited systems around here. It's a perfect location for preying on the innocent and decimating other societies. It'd be like the Colonies all over again."

"Boomer . . . " Apollo shrugged helplessly. He did have his orders. Quick in and out, and avoid taking on any fighters, if possible. But _then _they didn't know about the Earth men, or about the _Endeavour_. Or just how despicable these pirates were. He sighed as he thought about the possibility of taking the Earth shuttle back to the Fleet to study. What an opportunity!

Apollo moved back towards Starbuck. "Did you tell him about Luana?" he asked Boomer.

"All we knew when we left," Boomer clarified, noting Starbuck look at the captain anxiously.

"Have you heard . . . ?" Starbuck asked, his question trailing off as Apollo shook his head regretfully. He damned well _knew_ they were out of communication range still, why did he even ask? "I need to get back there. I need a ship. I can let the Commander know about your new game plan."

Apollo smiled ruefully. "_My_ new game plan?"

"We can't just walk away from this place. Boomer's right. The Cylons could use this place to extend their conquests even further into the Star System. It wouldn't be right. Ethically speaking." Starbuck reiterated. "It would be as bad as if we'd left Carillon for them to mine."

"What do you suggest I do with _them_? Ethically speaking." Apollo nodded out the hatchway.

"The pirates? A bunch of vicious, murdering cutthroats? Dayton and his boys would be happy to take care of them for you." Starbuck scowled, rubbing at his swollen eye.

"Yeah, I kind of got that idea." Apollo frowned. If Starbuck's condition after less than a day was an indication of how they treated people, the Fleet wouldn't welcome them. "Not exactly the Worship Day Flower Club, are they?"

"We could drop them off on the next habitable planet." Boomer suggested. "Like Baltar."

"Or out an airlock." Starbuck added, leaning against a gutted console to mask the weariness that was dragging him down.

Apollo nodded. "I guess we'd better find out how many of them there are."

"There was a rumour about a possible civilian contingent." Starbuck offered after a moment's consideration.

"There's a lot of equipment and raw materials here that would probably stand the Fleet in good stead." Apollo added as he looked around. "And I'd love to bring this shuttle back as well. Imagine the impact it would have on the people of the Fleet to not only see this ship, but to meet men from Earth . . . what did you call them?"

"The Earth men?" Starbuck asked, watching Apollo nod. "Ryan told me 'Earthlings', but I think he was joking. At least the others seemed to find it funny at the time." He shrugged. "They didn't laugh so hard when he told me to call them 'Canadians'."

"Sounds like this Ryan is a bit of a joker, eh?" Apollo smiled.

"They're good men. All of them." Starbuck thought back to his encounter with Dayton in the control room, reminding himself that _he_ had killed Torg and Bex since then. It gave him a different perspective on the NASA Commander. "I can't imagine what kind of fortitude it would take to survive what they've been through all of these yahrens. Apollo, those prisoners we found when we hit the Cylon base on Naytar looked better than some of these folks. I mean, yeah, Cylons kill. But these vermin seem to _enjoy_ it. In fact, the more torture they can inflict before they eventually kill you, the better. And if they can break you . . ." Starbuck closed his eyes briefly, shaking off the chilling sensation that shot down his spine, as he recalled his session with Torg and Bex. He rubbed at the throbbing spot in the middle of his forehead, feeling the captain's eyes on him.

"Is that based on what you went through?" Apollo asked.

Starbuck merely nodded as he met the intense gaze. He'd explain the Obediator later. "There's the Dynamos too. We'll need to blow them up. We sure as Hades don't want that technology falling into Cylon diodes."

"I wonder if we could safely bring one back for Wilker to dissect." Apollo pondered. "Moving into a new region of space, we're going to have to know what possible dangers we'll be facing."

"Oh, we could bring it back safely enough; they're all deactivated. It's what Wilker does to it once it arrives in his lab, that I'm concerned about." Starbuck suggested.

"Point." Boomer agreed.

"Still, if we could somehow use that technology to our advantage." Apollo mused, smiling at Boomer's intrigued countenance, and Starbuck's dour one. "Maybe turn it _against_ the Cylons . . ."

"How about it?" Starbuck let out a long sigh. "I really need to get back to the _Galactica_, Apollo. I've _got_ to find out what happened to Lu."

"Why don't you fly back in the shuttle with the others?" Apollo suggested. "Giselle needs to look . . ."

Starbuck winced, shaking his head. "Sagan's sake, don'tmake me _beg_ for this." The exhaustion that he had tried so hard to hide had penetrated his limbs, and the man literally sagged before them.

"Hey . . ." Apollo stepped forward, thinking Starbuck was about to collapse. The lieutenant raised a hand to stop him, but Apollo grabbed his arm anyway. "I don't want you flying. Not in this condition. I'm sorry."

"I'm _fine_. Just a bit bruised." He straightened his shoulders, and shook his head in protest, as he shook Apollo off. "Giselle said she'd check me out later." What she had actually told him was "get in line, Starbuck" as she had pointed to Dorado and the Earthmen, but it was all in the interpretation really.

"You _do_ look like you're going to drop, Starbuck." Boomer pointed out, still amazed that Starbuck had been cleared by the med tech. Maybe he should have gone aboard the shuttle with him . . .

"The Viper is flown from the seated position, Boomer." Starbuck snapped, articulating each word. He had heard the story of Boomer challenging Colonel Tigh over Blue Squadron leaving their sick beds to back up the relatively new squadron of female fighter pilots, commanded by Apollo and Starbuck, over Kobol.

"That was different, buddy." Boomer replied, knowing what he was getting at. But Starbuck making it back ahead of the shuttle was hardly a life or death situation . . . well, not the way he meant it anyway.

"I _can't_ wait for the shuttle, it'll take too long . . . I need to know if she's . . ." Starbuck swallowed the enormous lump in his throat, "dead or alive. Surely to God _you_ can understand that." He looked to Apollo. _Remember Zac _he nearly said, but clamped down on it.

Apollo nodded briefly as he looked into the anguished blue eyes. He had rushed his own father to their family home following Caprica's destruction for that very reason, in addition to realizing it was safer for the sole surviving Battlestar Commander and Member of the Quorum of Twelve. Of course, there had been no traces of his beloved mother . . . and then there had been Zac . . . and Serina . . .

"I'll go with him." Boomer volunteered, as he read the indecision in the captain's eyes. He placed a hand on Starbuck's other shoulder, and felt the slight trembling coursing through his frame as he tried to control his emotions. "I can report to the commander. Starbuck's going to need to get to the Life Station, after all." He squeezed his friend's shoulder in reassurance. "To see Luana," he clarified.

"After decon." Apollo reminded them. "All right. I'm hoping the commander will decide to leave the Fleet and circle back around to blow this base to Hades Hole after you tell him the change of plans. It would take a lot less time and save numerous shuttles a long journey, not to mention the amount of solonite it would require to blow this place apart. That's if he isn't going to strip and module us first."

"What do you mean by 'us', Captain?" Boomer grinned. "_We_ were only following orders."

"You don't think the Commander would believe that, do you?" Apollo looked meaningfully at Starbuck.

"Guys, I hate to cut the chitchat short, but . . . " Starbuck griped.

The sudden loud noise of Colonial Boots running up the makeshift gangway drew their attention. Jolly abruptly appeared in the hatchway.

"Skipper, we've got company. One of those pirate squadrons was just picked up on Varick's scanner."

"Launch Silver Spar to intercept."

"Apollo, ten to one the Wraiths are out there too. They have some kind of technology which scrambles sensors." Starbuck warned him. "They fly dark, move fast, and are difficult to spot, especially with your scanners on the blink."

"What's their firepower like?" the Strike Captain asked, turning to Starbuck. Admittedly, his wingman's return to business boosted his confidence in his decision.

"The Rovers have reduced range and power. The Wraiths . . . I'm not sure. I never saw any weapons, but that doesn't rule out the possibility." Starbuck returned.

Apollo nodded. "I'll brief Bojay. Jolly, we need to find out if there are any civilians here. It might translate into a quick end to the battle if we have hostages."

"I'm on it." Jolly replied. "What about our shuttle? Apparently, they're ready to launch."

"How are the wounded?"

"Stabilized for transport, but still critical."

Apollo shook his head in frustration. "Same Viper escort. I'll have Bojay make sure they get out safely. You two are on your own, ahead of the shuttle."

"We're off then." Starbuck interjected, slapping Boomer meaningfully in the arm.

Apollo nodded. "Be careful. And be mindful of the Wraiths when you head back to the Fleet. If what you say about them is true, they could get you turned around."

"I'll follow my nose instead of my scanner." Starbuck nodded, turning sharply on his heel and striding towards the gangway. He blew out a relieved breath as he realized he had just played the most convincing hand of his life. He wasn't looking forward to spending a couple centars cooped up in a fighter, or however long it would take at full thrusters, but at least he would finally find out what happened to Luana.

He repressed the sudden wave of anxiety threatening to consume him. She had to be okay. _She just had to. _Then irrationally, it hit him. He stopped in his tracks, stumbling forward when Boomer collided clumsily with him from behind. It struck him that it probably looked quite amusing to the onlookers as he regained his balance . . . especially if Croad being doubled over with jocularity and slapping his knee was any indication.

"What?" Boomer asked, reaching out an arm to steady him.

Starbuck turned around slowly, almost reluctantly. "I . . . " he shook his head, wondering where the sudden thought came from. Of all the inopportune moments to get inspired! Maybe the Lords of Kobol really _were_ listening.

Typically, they had no sense of timing.

"What?" Boomer asked again, looking back at Apollo who had barely stopped himself from propelling into both of them.

"I've got an idea." Starbuck admitted.


	54. Chapter 54

"Remind me again, lad, how I got volunteered for this duty?" Croad asked Starbuck, as he sat in the Rover's cockpit. It was like old home secton, sitting in the fighter. He couldn't get over the similarities to his Proteus ship as he familiarized himself with the instruments. In addition, an array of buzz words ran through his mind, which the lieutenant had used to try to get him up to speed on the local pirate dialect.

"Your accent is about right." Starbuck blinked, closing his eyes briefly as his abused gut protested his position, hanging off the side of the ship. He fought down the wave of nausea that was encouraging him to fill Croad's cockpit. "And I figured you could fly her since she came from the Frodo System. No problem." At first he had resentfully volunteered to do it himself, being the only one with actual flying experience in the small fighter, but then that image of the knee-slapping Enforcer popped into his mind. Croad was perfect.

"Who am I again?" Croad asked. At first the switch from shuttle pilot to inside operative had intimidated him, but now that he was back in a familiar environment, he was looking forward to the challenging mission. A real chance to prove himself since signing on as a Colonial Warrior after joining the Fleet at Proteus.

"Bex." Starbuck replied. "His voice was a bit deeper, and he was as mean as a toxic waste dump guard-daggit with rabies."

"And I don't have no bloody accent." Croad snarled, lowering his voice minutely.

"Meaner." Starbuck shook his head.

"Get the frack off my ship, or I'll blow yer leg off and feed it to you for dinner."

"Meaner." Starbuck shrugged. "And they don't say 'frack'." He reminded him.

Croad grabbed Starbuck's tunic, twisting it with his fist. He leaned close, almost nose to nose. "Don't ye bloody well be tellin' me how to do my job, astrum-wipe."

Starbuck grinned. "Ass-wipe."

"Bloody hell," Croad cursed, "I forgot." He let go of the warrior.

"Not bad though." Starbuck nodded, and then smiled mischievously. "Just be yourself."

Croad growled at him, then added, "Smells like something crawled up inside of ye and died there, lad."

"Perfect."

"Actually, me Bucko, I meant it." Croad shrugged.

Starbuck nodded, really not caring at this point. With a final pat on Croad's shoulder he jumped down to the tarmac, putting a hand on the Rover as a jagged pain shot through his abdomen, stealing his breath away and causing him to almost double over. He could feel his knees tremble, as his body wavered between continuing on, and cashing out his cubits now. Thankfully, he was out of sight of the others.

He could hear the hiss of the Rover's canopy as it lowered into place. With one more determined thought of Luana, he straightened his back and stepped away from the fighter in time for her to taxi down the runway for takeoff. Then, with a blast of hot air from her thrusters, the little fighter was gone.

----------

Croad could feel that familiar calmness settle over him which he always felt in a cockpit, as he navigated through the asteroid field in the old fighter. He nodded as he picked up the Rovers on his scanner, knowing that Bojay, who was standing by with Silver Spar, had been reading them since they had launched. It reassured him to know the pirates had likely just picked him up as well on their limited scanners.

"Bex, what the hell happened?" a voice asked over the comm. "You took off like wildfire!"

"Nothin'." Croad replied, lowering his voice as Starbuck had directed. He crossed his fingers, and prayed that the distortion of the comm line caused by the asteroid field would explain any oddities "Thought there might be a problem. Wasn't."

"So, you came back to welcome us home? Always knew you had a heart of gold beneath that gruff exterior."

"Hah! Actually, thought you lot could use a few flyin' lessons." Croad smiled.

"Really? I noticed you left the Colonial fighter back at base this time," laughed the other. "Was she too much for you, Bex?"

"Like ridin' a friggin' pedigree. Too bloody temperamental for my liking." Croad grinned as they drew closer to his position. He veered off on a heading towards where Bojay and his pilots were concealed. "Okay, form up on me. Dynamo Four is malfunctioning. We need to check it out."

"What happened with two?"

"Power fluctuation in the control circuits." Croad improvised, unsure if they were referring to the activation of it by Blue Squadron, or the deactivation of it by Starbuck and Dayton.

"Bloody hell," snarled another of the pirates. "I told you Krebs is sleeping on the job. When he's not just plain drunk."

"Not any more. I kicked his ass into next week." Croad shrugged, not quite understanding the phrasing, but pleased he remembered it all the same.

"There's four up ahead. Strange, I'm not reading her. She's dead as Dynamo two was."

"Then check her out." Croad ordered, feeling less exposed as two of the three fighters pulled ahead of him.

It was pure precision. He followed their progression with his scanner as he subtly throttled back on the power, and fell back behind the third Rover. Right on cue, six Vipers appeared from behind the sheltering cover of the larger asteroids. He activated his ship's attack scanner, and fired a shot which rocked the ship ahead of him. "Rovers, we are locked on target. Surrender or die." Croad grinned.

"Bex, what the hell is going on here?" screamed someone.

"This is Captain Bojay of the Battlestar _Galactica_," said the Silver Spar pilot, taking over. He fired a shot himself, directly across one Rover's bow. "I suggest you do as the man says."

"Bloody hell!"

----------

"Starbuck, I'd really appreciate you turning the recirculation unit up to full power on my bird." Giles ribbed the warrior from the pilot's seat in the shuttle, as he watched the two Vipers pull ahead of Sheba and Varick's. Rooke and Dickins were stabilized for transport, but still seemed to be keeping Med Tech Giselle occupied in the shuttlecraft. The mood had lightened considerably though, since Bojay had announced the surrender of the Rovers and their imminent return to the pirate base. "I don't think I could fly with _stink de Starbuck_ in my nostrils for the rest of my career."

"Where do you keep the air-sickness bags, Giles? Can't seem to . . . " Starbuck heaved noisily over the comm, smiling as Giles screamed at him in return.

"You snitrad! If you weren't up to flying, you shouldn't have taken on . . .!"

"Just jerking your chain, Giles." Starbuck razzed, though an air-sickness bag wasn't such a bad idea at that. In fact, it was sounding better by the centon.

"What is it about bodily functions that always amuse men?" Sheba taunted them, the slight smile on her face betraying her own amusement. "Especially the less pleasant ones?"

"We're crass." Giles admitted with a smirk.

"And lacking in discrimination and sensibility." Varick added from her wing.

"Don't forget refinement." Boomer threw in from Starbuck's wing.

"Well, at least you've given it some serious thought." Sheba grinned as the distance between the two teams of Vipers increased.

"No, we're just reiterating what you told us last secton." Boomer reminded her.

"I'm surprised you were listening." Sheba remarked, once again checking her scanners.

"We weren't at first, but when you recorded the diatribe and sent it to each of us personally, and then spray painted 'men are insensitive porcines' across each of our Vipers . . . "

"Giles, what in Hades Hole are you talking about?" Sheba asked with a laugh, looking up.

"Giles, I told you, it was_ just _a bad dream." Boomer reminded him. "Easy there."

"Oh, right. Sorry 'bout that, Sheba."

"Yeah, I'll bet." She returned as she looked back down at her instruments. "The scanners look clear from here. Good luck, guys. Give Luana a big hug for me when you see her, Starbuck."

"I will." Starbuck returned after a moment, remembering his last conversation with the lieutenant had been about how poorly he was treating Cassiopeia when she had ganged up on him with Athena in the OC. He didn't quite understand her sudden turnaround, but on the other hand, he knew Sheba didn't wish Luana any ill will either. He checked his environmental control, as his skin prickled with an unexpected coolness. It seemed fine. "Let's go, Boomer."

"Just remember, we're still in an asteroid belt." Boomer mentioned as his friend hit his turbos and blasted ahead.

"Oh? Is that why all those big rocks are out there?" Starbuck deadpanned. "I was wondering about that." He rubbed the back of his neck, wishing the Viper had built- in massage technology. There were so many improvements that could still be made to the so-called 'sophisticated piece of flying machinery'. _Shiatsu Viper, the next generation of Colonial Fighters. _ _Coming soon to a Battlestar near you._

". . . still there?" Boomer asked.

"Come again?"

"I lost you for a centon."

"No you didn't." Starbuck gave himself a mental shake. _Not good for the mind to be wandering in an asteroid field, Bucko._

"Yeah, I did." Boomer shook his head. "As I was saying, the shuttle seems to be deviating from its programmed flight plan."

Starbuck looked at his own scanner. "So are Sheba and Varick. Sheba, come in."

"I already tried." Boomer reminded him.

"You did?" Starbuck asked. "You told me that?"

"Yeah, when you phased out a centon ago. Any of this sounding familiar, Bucko?" Boomer asked, with concern in his voice. "Hades' Chimes. Maybe you _shouldn't_ be flying."

Starbuck tapped his scanner, his internal klaxon going off. "Boomer . . . "

"Oh, frack. Is it the Wraiths?" It hit Boomer just as suddenly.

"Let's go find out, buddy." They circled back towards the shuttle, their ships moving in perfect unison born of yahrens of experience.

"How many are there?" Boomer asked, realizing he didn't know. He adjusted his scanner.

"Four . . . as far as I know. Just remember, if they're jamming us, we'll lose our scanners and our instruments will be affected. I couldn't even pick up their communicator transmissions until I was out of their jamming range. Just be aware, you're better off operating everything manually, Boomer. Don't rely on the computer for anything."

"Great." Boomer replied. "Any good news?"

"Sure. There are only two each. If you're nice to me, I might let you have three."

"Lucky me."

"I'll hit them from the right." Starbuck altered his course setting to rendezvous with where he thought the shuttle should be.

"I have the left." Boomer veered off the other way circling around. His eyes narrowed as he searched the darkness for any detectable movement that might be a Wraith. Even a glint in the light of the distant sun. Apparently, they were aptly named. He checked his scanner; his stomach doing a flip as the large shuttlecraft abruptly disappeared. "Starbuck!"

"Don't get too excited, Boomer. That didn't read like a destruct. It might just be our scanners." Starbuck replied, though his heart was sitting in his throat. He checked the transponder signal from the shuttle. It was still there. For now. Maybe . . .

"Sheba and Varick?" Boomer asked, glancing down at his screen.

"I still have them . . . uh . . . gone." Starbuck replied, hitting his thrusters once again. As they vanished, so did their signals. The shuttle's was now gone too.

"Starbuck, my instruments are going crazy!"

"Yeah, my . . . too. Any vis . . . yet?"

"You're breaking up, Starbuck." It was almost as if the ships had disappeared. Any signals he was sending were merely bouncing off the asteroids like some kind of deflection system, and his navigational gear was more disorienting than helpful. "Wait, there's a Viper! Dead ahead. Starbuck, do you read me?"

Static was his reply. The fighter appeared to be alone, as it propelled forwards. Abruptly, its engines died, though its inertia continued to carry the ship on a deadly flight path . . . straight towards an asteroid. It struck him that this must have been what happened to Ensign Szabo. His Viper disabled by these Wraith machines, and then coasting out of control right into an asteroid before rescue was possible. Boomer swore while hitting his thrusters, distracted momentarily as a small, sickly yellow beam darted past him. He peered over his shoulder, but was unable to see where it came from. "Starbuck, I don't know if you can hear me, but they're armed. I repeat, they're armed!"

Boomer raced towards the disabled Viper, positioning himself beneath her, and gradually getting the nose of his ship up until he felt it grate against the underbelly of the other. The small amount of force was all that was necessary to change its course, and he continued to guide the other ship as he throttled back his engines, reducing speed for both ships.

A further beam shot past him, again as if from nowhere. "Starbuck! Where are you? I could use some help, buddy!"

As if in answer to his plea, lasers abruptly blasted past Boomer from the opposite direction and a burst of fire filled the darkness behind him . . . briefly illuminating another small ship only a couple hundred metrons off his port side.

Boomer immediately dropped his nose, feeling the Vipers separate. As soon as he was far enough away, he hit his thrusters, lasers blazing to illuminate the darkness before him. There it was! He briefly glanced at his attack scanner, and just as quickly discounted it, before lining up his target the old-fashioned way and thumbing the button. His fire ripped through the blackness, and there was a sudden ball of light. He'd hit the enemy craft dead center, blowing it away.

"Nice job." Starbuck told him, grinning as his sensors slowly came back on line.

"Thanks. Not so bad yourself." Boomer grinned. "Did you hear _any_ of what I said?"

"Barely, my comm was down." Starbuck replied. "Varick, come in."

"Varick here. I was hit! I don't even know what by! My ship was steering like a frackin' freighter! I had to cut power. Thank the Lords you came along when you did, whoever that was . . . "

"It was Lieutenant Boomer." Starbuck informed him. "Can you run a diagnostic, Varick?"

"I'm trying, Starbuck!"

"Easy kid, just settle down. Take a deep breath . . . and if you have any interest in taking more in the near future, reboot your systems and run the systems check now," Starbuck coached him. Varick had been one of the cadets in his last class, graduating with Luana and Lia. He had proven to be more than a capable Colonial Warrior, coming through for them decidedly on the rescue mission on Alrin . . . not that Starbuck actually remembered much of it, but it had looked impressive on Boomer's report.

"Starbuck, I have Sheba and the shuttle on my scanner again. I'm going to go help her out." Boomer told him.

"Right. I'm be with you in a centon." Starbuck returned, watching the glow of his engines head in the direction of the shuttle. "Well, kid?"

"Everything looks okay now, Lieutenant." Varick answered hesitantly. He clicked a few more buttons. "All I needed to do was reboot?"

"Yeah. Who knew?" Starbuck answered lightly. It was like a diminished effect of the Dynamo, disabling the fighter's handling capability temporarily, but _not_ affecting the pilot. He wondered where the pirates had stolen the technology from, and what kind of targets it normally was intended for. Well, at least it kept the adrenaline flowing, and the way he was feeling now, every bit would help. "Let's go, Ensign."


	55. Chapter 55

The Wraiths had come out of nowhere. Sheba wasn't sure why she was so surprised by that, but then she had never come across an undetectable fighter before. Thank the blessed Lords of Kobol that they didn't have the fire power to actually destroy a Viper, or Varick would be a dead man instead of . . . she glanced down at her useless scanner, wondering once again what had become of the ensign.

She bit her lip, rolling her fighter as two beams of light once again shot past her. They had just given their positions away! Idiots! She jerked back her stick, climbing at an angle that would have been intolerable if she was under atmospheric conditions. She continued to arc, following her instincts to return to the approximate point of origin. She narrowed her eyes, visually seeking her targets. _Damn! Where were they?_

It was the first time she had seen a ship run completely dark. They wouldn't even have sufficient light to see their instruments by. Either they knew their ships so well, that it wasn't necessary . . . or their helmets were somehow wired in as part of their scanning and fire-control systems. Some sort of virtual-reality interface, perhaps? Lords, to be able to bring one of them back to _Galactica_ to take apart!

_Exciting thought, Lieutenant, but first you need to ensure the shuttle gets safely out of here, and then hopefully you'll find your wingman. _She set her jaw grimly, shaking her head. Unfortunately, Varick wasn't a priority right now. But she couldn't just leave him either. A shiver passed through her as she thought about Ensign Szabo's horrible end. She once again commed for assistance. "This is Viper six, come in. We're under attack. Repeat, we're under attack."

As before the line hissed back at her, reminding her just how alone she was. She had lost communications with Varick and the shuttle just a couple centons before the Wraiths attacked. Then, while she was trying to raise them _and_ adjust her malfunctioning sensors, they had hit.

Varick had been the primary target, and Sheba counted herself fortunate that she had seen the narrow band of light before it hit the ensign's ship. She had immediately started evasive maneuvers, spiraling away towards the shuttle and putting herself between the transport and the pirates. It had obviously surprised them to some extent as she rocketed towards them, lasers blazing, fiercely determined that her old _Pegasus _squadron mates would get to the _Galactica_'s Life Station in one piece.

She had been playing felix and rodent with them ever since, leading them further away from the transport, and hoping and praying that they would stick with her and allow the shuttle to escape. Unfortunately, how many were with her and how many were otherwise occupied she didn't know. _Enemy numbers unknown. _Never a good thing. "Hey boys, let's play!" she murmured adding a throaty laugh for good measure as she poured on her thrusters, drawing them further away from the shuttle. . . she hoped. _Damned useless navigational equipment!_

Starbuck had mentioned he hadn't seen a woman since being towed into the asteroid base. He had some doubts about whether any actually existed, or if they did, they apparently had low standards . . . and no sense of smell. It was almost like the reverse of the Empyrean settlers, who had become a strictly female society. Sheba was hoping some feminine wiles would go a long way in attracting and keeping their total attention.

"C'mon, fellows. I heard from Starbuck that you all fly like women! Well, I somehow doubt that you're really _that_ good!" she laughed lightly once again, even as her chest tightened with apprehension that they had returned to the easier and slower prey of the shuttle. The comm crackled to life, her instrument dials bouncing abruptly to the right before leveling out again. "I hear Bex wasn't."

"Well, my darlin', that sounds like a challenge, it does. Seems they build women a bit differently where yer from." The soft, almost lyrical inflection belayed the fact that it was being spoken by a scum sucking pirate.

"Yes, from flesh and blood." Sheba grinned. "Plastic is a precious commodity, after all."

"Ohoho! You speak the tongue of the she-devil!" Mock indignation filled the line followed by a chuckle of amusement.

"If the tongue fits." Sheba replied, hastily checking her scanners. The asteroids still hampered her sensors, but periodically she could see the blip of the shuttle. She shook her head in self-disgust as she realized she was a few degrees off course from where she had intended to be, and she corrected, nodding as she saw the shuttle following suit, but in direction of the _Galactica_. The Wraiths appeared as intermittent signals, fading in and out, and she noted with relief that there only seemed to be two. Somewhere out there, hidden by the asteroids, there were at least two more . . . as well as Varick's Viper.

"Sounds as though we have ourselves a spirited one, Koreg."

"Aye, a fiery wench. It will be all the more fun taming her."

The pirate laughed; a cruel, sadistic laugh that made Sheba's skin crawl, even in her cockpit, before adding, "C'mere darlin'."

"Come and catch me . . . darlin'." She taunted in return, hitting her thrusters and blasting ahead of them.

----------

A handful of drunken men sleeping off the aftereffects of 'asteroid whiskey' was all that they could find, as they wandered through the derelict commune of the pirate settlement. Jolly shook his head as he looked around, reminded of the terrible conditions he had seen in the early days of the Fleet as people packed into small spaces aboard the various vessels, with scant in the way of belongings or privacy . . . or, by the smell of it, turbo flushes.

"I see evidence of children, Jolly," Greenbean remarked picking up an old, abandoned rag doll beneath a blanket on a tiny sleeping pallet. "But if they're down here, they're hiding."

"Well, if we're going to blow this place apart, we'd better find them. After seeing what they did to Starbuck, I admit that I wasn't feeling too enamored towards the pirates, but children are another thing entirely." Jolly returned uneasily. "And if there are children, then there must be some mothers about."

"Unless they only _want_ us to think so." Greenbean added hesitantly. "Deception of some sort. Lords know they wouldn't be the first, Jolly."

"So we wouldn't blow it up?" Jolly asked with a scowl. "That's kind of twisted."

"Not much more twisted than the captain getting us to look for hostages so we can get the pirates to concede without a fight." Greenbean shrugged, looking over the worn toy before tossing it to Jolly.

"I admit it isn't exactly glorious, but this is strategy, not diplomacy." Jolly rationalized as he caught the doll. He turned it over in his hands, examining the worn seams and the endless rough stitching that indicated many repairs over the yahrens. He smiled vaguely, recalling his young cousin's similarly cherished doll and its similar appearance. "Looks well-loved to me."

"Maybe." Greenbean nodded. "Any thoughts on how we can flush them out?"

"None that sit particularly well with me." Jolly shook his head. "I suppose we could sic Boxey on them," he added with a rueful smile.

"Uh, I don't think so," the other snorted. "What about the daggit? Can he sniff out children?"

"Just mushies, which is probably why I have a bit more respect for Muffit than I used to." Jolly smiled faintly before shaking his head slowly as he looked around at the undeniable squalor.

t was the filth that really struck him. There seemed to be a centimetron of grime covering everything. A pungent, musty aroma reminding the warrior of an archaic latrine permeated the area. Jolly wrinkled his nose in distaste as he realized that some of the awful smell came from the line full of clothes supposedly drying, which in any other situation would translate into freshly laundered wear. Instead, the tattered, thin, and stained garments bespoke the poverty and poor hygienic conditions of its people.

"Man, and we think some of the folks in the Fleet have it bad." Greenbean vocalized what they were both thinking.

"At least they have some real gravity here," returned Jolly after a moment.

"Whoopee." Greenbean returned unenthused. "Soap would have been preferable."

Jolly heard something, and turned. "Shh!" he whispered pointing the other way. Moving with surprising stealth, he crossed the dimly lit room towards a small, half-open doorway partly obscured by a poorly balanced pile of crates. Slowly drawing his weapon, he moved around the obstruction, and looked over the top. He motioned to Greenbean, and the two warriors took a bead on the door. Jolly opened his mouth to yell out, when someone appeared.

A child of no more than six yahrens hobbled slowly out. So dirty and raggedly dressed was she, that only the long, unkempt hair gave away her gender. At first oblivious, face down towards the floor, she stopped, startled at seeing two strange men with weapons. She opened her mouth, but instead of a scream all that came out was a squeaky choke.

"Uhh..." was all Jolly got out, before she started to back up, retreating into the room she'd emerged from. Both warriors followed her, and then stopped short.

"Sagan!" muttered Greenbean.

----------

Starbuck checked his environmental controls yet again. Lords, sitting in Giles' cockpit was like being naked on Deathpoint Plateau on Arcta! His body actually convulsed as another shiver ran through him, which didn't sit too well with his aching stomach. He adjusted the heat, running it up all the way, realizing that the readings were obviously wrong. There was no damn way the temperature was normal in here. Yeah, there was definitely going to be a di-ethene storm at any micron.

"Lieutenant?" Varick's voice rang in his ears.

"Yo?" He cursed his swollen eye again as his vision blurred, unaware that he had spoken that last bit out loud. It was now official, his eye was swollen shut. He pried at it, manipulating his helmet aside, aware that his peripheral vision would be affected. For just a micron the image of a single glowing red eye crossing his face from side to side seemed like a potentially good idea . . .

"Sir, what are your orders?"

"Orders?" Starbuck asked, readjusting his helmet.

"The shuttle, Sir. She's back on her proper flight path. Do you want to proceed with Lieutenant Boomer, or stay with the shuttle?"

"Starbuck?" Boomer's voice had an edge to it. "What's going on, buddy?"

Starbuck shook his head, not having a ready explanation for missing the chain of events this time . . . unless . . . fooling with the environmental controls had somehow caused the comm to short out intermittently . . . _Nice try, Bucko._ "I'd better sit this one out, Boomer," he sighed, resigned to the truth. "I'll stay with the shuttle and head for the _Galactica_." So much for getting back to his base ship in a hurry. He let out a deep breath as his remaining good eye glanced over the scanners. "Any sign of Sheba?"

"Not on the scanner, there's too much interference, Bucko." He checked his instruments again. "But her transponder is reading loud and clear. She's trying to lead them away from the shuttle's course, by the looks of it."

"Go give her a hand." Starbuck nodded in calm acceptance . . . or exhausted capitulation. "Do you want Varick to help you out?"

"No." Boomer responded. "I think Sheba and I can handle two fighters. _You_ better think about whether we should load your Viper aboard the shuttle and hitch a ride back."

"I'm fine." There was still an outside chance that Boomer and Sheba could deal with the remaining Wraiths in good time and they could be on their way soon. "Besides, there's no sense in wasting the time it would take to slow down and dock with the shuttle."

"All right." Boomer sighed. _Stubborn son-of-a-daggit! _ He tried to remind himself that Starbuck knew his limitations and wouldn't put his friends at risk. "You're sure you're okay, buddy?"

"Just fine, Boomer."

"Okay, then why are you about to sideswipe that asteroid?"

"Very funny." Starbuck griped, but checked his scanners all the same. He _was_ a little close on the starboard side . . . where he had _no fracking vision_. "Get out of here. Go help our damsel in distress," he returned as he corrected his course. He could fly by scanner through the rest of the belt. He'd have to. Once they hit open space though, it would be an easy ride home.

Boomer snorted in reply, before hitting his thrusters and blasting away. "Keep an eye on him, Giles."

"Of course. He _is_ flying my bird," came the spontaneous reply. "And she'd better be clean when I get her back, Starbuck!"

"Like she's clean now," snorted Starbuck. "Smells like a slaughter house in here."

"Uh, that's you, Bucko." Boomer reminded him, irresistibly drawn back into the wordplay although he was already on his way to help Sheba.

"Hmm."


	56. Chapter 56

The dark, cold, musty storeroom of the pirate's asteroid base was eerily silent, despite being filled with women and children. Jolly and Greenbean couldn't help but experience a sense of unease bordering on horror, as they peered into wide, frightened eyes from every vantage point in the gloom. Looking up, they could see a few dim or flickering lights, none emitting anything resembling decent illumination.

"We're not going to hurt you." Jolly directed his comment to a painfully thin woman gathering three small children to her chest. Her oily hair clung to her pale face as she gazed at them in distrust. Her tattered clothes probably did little to keep out the chill, and the children's wear was little better as they huddled against her seeking her warmth and protection. Jolly slowly re-holstered his weapon, nodding at Greenbean to follow suit.

"What do ye want then?" The woman asked hesitantly as she kept an eye on both men's blasters.

Jolly let out a breath, seeing the warmth of it condensing in the chill air. Lords, it stunk; the cold air reeking of unwashed bodies and untreated waste. It made the warrior both angry and nauseous. "I'm Lieutenant Jolly of the Battlestar _Galactica_. We need you to come with us."

"Why?" she asked, gently running her fingers through her daughter's filthy hair as the child whimpered, and turned her face into her mother's bosom.

"We're evacuating everyone from the base." Jolly replied.

"To where?"

"The Colonial Fleet for now."

"And just what would that be?" She asked quickly, her voice still quiet and respectful, yet insistent.

Jolly paused for a moment wondering how to explain the Fleet to these people. "Our home. It's not far from here."

"Would ye be inviting us to come home with ya then?" she asked, her eyes sparkling and her lips quirking in a coy smile as she slowly and blatantly assessed the warrior from head to toe.

"Uh . . . " For a moment, Jolly felt like a piece of meat in the butcher's shop, or a poultron tossed into the leon's cage at the zoo. Given the woman's obvious level of malnutrition, he hoped it was purely symbolic. He could feel the unlikely flush rising from his neck until he was certain he had personally improved the dim lighting with the obvious red glow on his face. He avoided Greenbean's amused countenance as he willed his high colour to return to normal. "I didn't mean it quite that way."

"A shame," she replied, turning her gaze to Greenbean. "And you? Would ya be looking to help us improve our situation? I promise to make it worth yer while." She absently leaned down and kissed another child's fair head as he began to squirm, briefly interrupting her negotiations.

"What's your name?" Greenbean asked her after a moment's consideration.

"Liadan."

"Liadan." The name sounded strange on his tongue. "I'm Lieutenant Greenbean. I give you my word as a Colonial Warrior that we'll improve your situation, as well as that of your children." Greenbean told her and then looked around the room. "That goes for all the women and children on this base," he announced, raising his voice to be heard across the room.

"Would ya lay your watch down as a guarantee of yer good word?" Liadan asked as she shushed her third child while meeting the glance of another mother who shook her head vehemently at the audacity of the request.

"My watch?" Greenbean asked, turning to Jolly and shrugging. He wrinkled his brow in confusion until he saw her tap her wrist. "My chrono?" He pointed to the same.

"Aye, your . . . chrono," she agreed.

"Did you happen to meet Starbuck?" Jolly asked the woman with a slight smile.

She shrugged in bemused denial before looking back to Greenbean. "Well then?"

"All right. If that's what it'll take for you to believe me." He pulled off the chrono and took a step forward, hesitating as the children burrowed unbelievably further into their mother's embrace.

"Ye don't understand, warrior." She held out her hand to take the chrono from him, wrapping her fist around it as if he might try to retrieve it at the last moment. "That's what it'll take for me to even _begin_ to hope that I could ever believe ya."

"I . . . don't understand," said Jolly, raising his hands helplessly before him.

"Aye, but how could ya?" She said matter-of-factly. "Ye know naught of my life. Words are cheap, warrior," she said, biting down on the chrono as if testing its value. "Actions have value."

"Mama, I'm hungry," whispered one of the children, so tiny her words obviously surprised the men.

"Hush, Anya," said the woman, magically pulling a piece of root out of her dress and thrusting it into the child's reluctant hands. Even her own father forgot she was almost three, the despicable, drunken piece of . . .

"But I'm _hungry!"_ whined Anya, oblivious to all else. She pushed the root away, making a sour face and blinking her eyes as the tears welled up in them.

"I _said_..." began Liadan briskly, but Jolly interrupted.

"Hungry?" he asked, his question addressed to the whole pitiful group.

"What would ya know about being hungry, warrior?" asked Liadan. It was almost a taunt. She indicated his ample waistline. "Ye don't miss many meals, from what I'm seein'."

"_You_ know naught of _my_ life," Jolly replied, parroting the woman, as always a tad sensitive in that area. By the look on her face as she raised her eyebrows slightly and nodded in his direction, absorbing his words, he realized she would like to correct that particular situation. But then, she would probably do _anything_ to 'improve her situation'. . . or any_body_. It clearly wasn't personal. "Actions, you said?" He drew his commlink, and pressed the key. "Jolly here."

"Copy you, Lieutenant," came Apollo's voice.

"We've found some more people down here, Skipper. A door behind a pile of crates. Women and children mostly. A few insensate men reeking of alcohol." He noted Liadan's look of disgust at that. "They're malnourished, Captain. We need some emergency rations down here on the double. And a med tech."

"Copy that, Jolly," came the reply. "The rations are on the way."

Jolly turned to his partner, and Greenbean nodded, motioning to the people to begin moving. "Actions," Jolly said, looking back at Liadan. "Actions."

----------

They were on Sheba like a half-starved felix on the scent of its prey. Well, if her brilliant plan was to get their attention, she had definitely succeeded. For a moment she remembered that Starbuck had recently destroyed a pursuing Viper flying in a ship not that dissimilar from these Wraiths. He had simply outflown the more powerful fighter that wasn't designed for racing through the narrow space corridors that the asteroid belt presented.

Then again, she wasn't flying against Starbuck. Not that she'd ever tell him how much she respected his skills as a pilot; he'd be even more insufferable than he was now. She grinned as she thought about those very first impressions of him. Yes, it took both time and insight to get to know the man behind the façade.

Instead, she was up against two pirates, and no daughter of Cain would let herself be the least bit intimidated by fly-blown gutter rot like them. She slammed her control stick forward in an inherent reaction to the narrow beam of light that she had sensed before actually seeing it. They had been firing on her steadily since creeping up on her position as they flew deeper into an especially congested field of rocks. She pulled her stick hard to the right and then slammed it back in the opposite direction avoiding another imminent piece of space debris, as she wound her way through the obstacle course.

Her scanner beeped; they were jamming her once again. Yeah, their witty repartee had ceased after they realized she could outfly them with her eyes closed . . . oh, and without her fighter too. Unfortunately, unlike Starbuck, she wasn't at all familiar with these particular clusters of large rock, and she was getting increasingly frustrated that the route away from the shuttle seemed to be leaving her less and less room to maneuver her craft.

She hugged the underside of the largest asteroid she had seen in some time, following its curve as she attempted to double back and return to a more Viper-friendly battleground. Of course, that left her open to a divided attack, but then they probably weren't clever enough to figure . . .

She jerked her control stick to the right, just about tearing it out of its mounting as she narrowly evaded collision with another Viper. Her heart almost leapt out of her chest and she released a jagged, gasping breath. "Holy frack . . . " It had been a little too close, and the fact that she had almost taken another Colonial Warrior out with her left her feeling nauseous and shaken.

And then she saw the Wraith

Resolve settled over her, suppressing all but her calm and careful consideration as she lined up the relatively small fighter by sight. At the last micron, she adjusted her aim, thinking again how much they could potentially learn from the fascinating technology if they could study it. She fired.

The fleeting beam of light erupted into a vibrant burst of flame as her shot connected. She grinned in satisfaction as her absent systems began coming back on line, no longer affected by the Wraith's jamming mechanisms.

"Da, I'm hit!" The young man's voice was high pitched with terror. Sheba looked again at her target. The craft was visibly slowing, and trailing vapour and debris, sparkling brilliantly in the distant sunlight.

"Easy, son. I'm comin'." The determined partner replied.

"This is Lieutenant Sheba of the Battlestar _Galactica_. I am locked onto you, target craft. Surrender now. Both of you." She couldn't see any sign of the other Wraith. He had to be on the other side of the asteroid and slightly out of scanner range. Hopefully, the other Viper was on his tail.

"Da . . . my air . . ." the voice squeaked and gasped. In the background, Sheba could hear the whistle of an air leak.

"Koreg, switch to secondary life support systems!" The voice quavered as the instructions were shouted to the younger man.

" . . . Da . . .!" It seemed a piteously long and strangled plea as the last bit of oxygen was exhausted from the cockpit of the lightweight fighter. With a final, horrid choke, all fell silent.

"Koreg!" The naked grief filled the airwaves.

Sheba blinked furiously at the sudden inexplicable prickling behind her eyes. She shook her head trying to get control of herself. Taking someone's life hadn't been so personalized before. From day one in a cockpit, it had always been Cylons. Soulless machines. But now . . . to hear someone take his last gasping breath . . .

"Ya bitch! Ya killed him!" The gruff voice cracked with despair. "Ya killed my boy!" The alien craft began to swing around towards Sheba's position. At once, narrow bands of light screamed across her bow even as she pulled up to evade them.

"This is Lieutenant Boomer. Power down your ship. Surrender now, and we'll bring in your boy. Give him a decent burial." Boomer's steady voice flooded the comm. "Your base is secured by Colonial Warriors, and your people are preparing to be evacuated. If you don't cease fire and surrender, you'll be joining your son shortly. Your choice. Locked on target."

Sheba closed her eyes, awaiting the answer.

A grievous groan preceded the response, "You'll rot in Hell for this. Bastards!"

"Well, that can't be as bad as Hades Hole." Boomer shrugged. "Do you concede? Yes or no? Three . . . two . . ."

"Aye. I concede." The Wraith slowed, and dropped her gear.

"Okay, Boomer." Sheba breathed. "Let's take them home."

----------

_Where the frack are you Boomer?_

Starbuck might as well have been in the fracking shuttle, strapped to a stretcher and under the influence of a good pain killer, for all the progress he was making in his fighter. They would be out of the damned asteroid belt in a few centons, and instead of blasting ahead full turbos, he would be settling back in the ole rocking chair for a leisurely amble on home as shuttle escort.

"Giles, how are Rooke and Dickins doing?"

"They're holding their own, Starbuck. Still critical though. We'll be taxing the turbines as soon as we clear the last hunk of rock," he replied. "Are you going to raise the _Galactica?"_

"Yeah. They'll need some advance notice to organize Red and Green Squadrons to launch." He knew that Adama wouldn't leave the Fleet unprotected if he decided to rendezvous with Apollo.

"There should probably be some word on Luana by now, Bucko." Giles mentioned.

"Yeah." Starbuck replied softly. He'd been trying not to think about it too much. _Yeah, right Starbuck. It's almost all you've been thinking about since leaving Boomer behind to help Sheba_.He was reasonably certain that the lieutenants could easily handle a couple underpowered Wraiths, though the fact that they hadn't returned raised a couple questions. However, their transponder signals showed up intermittently, affected by the asteroid belt's interference, so that boded well.

He adjusted the Viper's internal temperature. Lords, it was beginning to feel like he was working under the hot sun on the desert planet of Borellus, or laying on a hot slab in a sauna. He reached beneath his seat for the emergency rations, desperate for a gulp of water_. Why didn't you think about this earlier? Hades, your mouth has been as dry as an Otori bacchanalia since before Sagan was in diapers . . . or at least for six or eight centars._

Shifting his helmet, he raised the bottle to his lips, gulping down the tepid liquid. It was pure nectar. For an brief moment he thought he might just vomit it all up again, something sure to thrill Giles, but he took a few deep breaths, willing the liquid to stay put.

" . . . free and clear."

Ensign Varick's voice penetrated his moment of nauseated introspection as his flight helmet dropped back into place. Starbuck blinked, feeling the tears run down his face from between his swollen eyelids. He looked up smiling in relief to see the vastness of space before him and activated his comm. "Viper Two to _Galactica_, come in." He waited, listening to the crackle of space. "Repeat, this is . . ."

"We read you, Viper Two," Rigel responded.

"Lieutenant Starbuck. Report." Adama's tone seemed both pleased and abrupt.

"Commander, we're en route to the Fleet with the shuttle carrying injured. Two pilots from the _Pegasus_, as well as men from . . . " It still seemed unbelievable to be saying it, "Earth." For a long moment, there was only silence.

"Earth?" Adama stuttered. "Are you certain?" He held up his hand to quiet the din that suddenly overcame the bridge.

"Yes, Sir. Their space shuttle is on the pirate base, Commander. Two of the men, one a _Pegasus_ pilot, are in critical condition. It's a long story, but Captain Apollo wants to tear that base apart, removing the people and the resources, not to mention that Earth ship. It would be a strategic base for Cylons, Commander. Practically made to order for them. We can't leave it in one piece."

"What resources, Starbuck?"

As unlikely as it seemed, his mind went blank. What the frack _did_ Apollo want from that devil's pit? The _Endeavour_ and . . .

"Commander, Flight Sergeant Giles here." He could hear Starbuck's audible sigh of relief as his comrade spoke up. "The hangar is huge, Sir. And it's filled with scrap from endless scavenged ships, not to mention the raw ore from the mine which Sheba's initial scan identified. Then there's an edible root that the entire community has been subsisting on."

"Edible?" Starbuck muttered in disbelief. "Depends on how you define 'edible'."

"Lieutenant Starbuck?" Adama asked, barely hearing the comment.

"Tastes like grainy ammonium, Sir." Starbuck felt the sweat trickling down his face and body as he reset the environmental controls yet again. He was going to wear the damn thing out at this rate. "Cylon landing bay door lubricant would taste better."

"Starbuck, is the flavour of the root a pertinent part of your report?" Adama asked after a moment's reflection of the inappropriate comment. His annoyance at the young man's blatant disregard for protocol when the lieutenant made the decision to pursue the pirates without consulting command, was barely contained. Of course, that was now counter-balanced with the fact that they had found evidence of the _Pegasus_' survival, and now men from Earth. He sighed deeply, awaiting the officer's reply.

"Sorry, Sir," Starbuck muttered, knowing this was probably the wrong time to ask, but since he was already in the daggit house . . . "Commander . . . is there any word on Ensign Luana?"

"Tigh?" Adama asked his executive officer.

"Commander, I just spoke to Dr. Salik in the Life Station. Ensign Luana just came out of surgery. She's medically stable." Tigh's jaw tightened, knowing that he had omitted many of the relevant facts, but this was not the time or the place to explain to Starbuck.

"Surgery?" Starbuck choked out, his gut dropping down to his toes with news.

"She had a subdural hematoma from a head injury." Tigh elaborated. "We don't have a prognosis at the moment though."

"Frack . . ." A tightness seemed to band around his chest, crushing the very air from his lungs. "But she's going to be okay?" he rasped, closing his eyes and swallowing the landram-sized lump in his throat as he awaited the colonel's response.

"Honestly, I'm not sure, Starbuck. There were other circumstances." Tigh replied. "Dr. Salik will have to give you more information once you get here."

"Commander Adama," Giles interrupted. "Captain Apollo recommended the _Galactica_ rendezvousing with the asteroid base. He felt the _Galactica_'s missiles would destroy the base in a fraction of the time it would take to rig enough explosives to blow it up. Also, it would save us the time it would take to shuttle the necessary retrieval teams all the way to the belt and then through it."

"Agreed. Tigh, organize the necessary equipment and people and have them board the _Galactica_ for transport. Inform Red and Green Squadrons that they will be flying escort for the Fleet." Adama ordered. "Plot a course for the shuttle to rendezvous with us. We'll pick them up on the way, and get the injured to Life Station as soon as possible."

Starbuck could hear the commander rattling off more orders and then signing off, but it was only a distant drone in his ears. His mind refused to concentrate on the words transmitting over the comm line like the monotone buzz of an apiary that seemed to draw further and further away. He swallowed the bile that was rising in his throat as his fear for Luana consumed him.

He backed off on his thrusters instinctively as he narrowed his eyes, noticing how his peripheral vision was greying around the edges. His extremities were beginning to tingle and he could almost mentally trace the medial pathway as the strange sensation crept through his body. He opened his mouth to say something, noting the tingling in his lips as well. With a shaking hand, he reached for the control to turn up the oxygen, but his numb fingers never made it. The blackness engulfed him swiftly and he slumped in his cockpit.


	57. Chapter 57

_Freedom._ It had seemed such a simple concept while being imprisoned for thirty years on the pirate asteroid. God, it was something he had prayed and fought for every single blessed day. But as Dayton finally got the courage to undo the seemingly innocuous lap belt that supposedly was sufficient to secure him during the Colonial shuttle's takeoff, he realized that freedom wasn't necessarily the opposite of imprisonment.

Dorado had impatiently sat in the rear of the transport while they launched. As soon as they left the base, he was already up and hovering over Giles in the cockpit. Dayton was a little envious to see the younger man somewhat back in his element. He also knew the _Pegasus_ warrior was anxious to see full medical intervention reached as soon as was possible for the sake of his wingman, as well as Dickins.

Dayton shook his head as he realized that he really had no idea what was ahead of them now. They had worked so hard to find a plan to just get them off the base, they really hadn't given a lot of thought to anything beyond that. How could they have? There was a time where he would have just laughed off his fear of the unknown and taken life as it came, but that was before he had lost everything dear to him. Yeah, so far the unknowns in his life hadn't turned out to be a lot of laughs.

Then there were his men. Despite thirty years of living with them as his equals, he still carried that burden of responsibility for them. He was the man in charge of their mission; their NASA Commander. The shuttle jockey. He couldn't help but wonder as he watched the Colonials in action what kind of people they truly were. They seemed able enough. The way they had assaulted and then secured the pirate's base was practically textbook, but at the same time, had they _really_ been naïve enough to be duped into losing their worlds and their entire civilization to an alien, and from what he gathered, predominantly robotic race? It made him wonder who the hell they had in charge back then. Benedict Arnold?

Yeah, all those thoughts weren't exactly filling him with the elation that freedom had foretoken as he walked slowly towards the flight deck to peer out into open space. The fact that he could actually walk, and not float, his way forward still had him shaking his head. Heck, so did the bottle of water still clenched tightly in his hand as if it was a rare treasure. _The finest wine could not compare._ He looked up from his boots, to gaze into space again.

The last time he had seen it, it had been on his way to the International Space Station. It still filled him with wonder and fascination that went all the way back to the first time he had seen the reruns of Neil Armstrong stepping onto the surface of the moon in 1969 . . . of course, he hadn't realized they were reruns when he was seven-years-old.

"Commander Dayton, this is Flight Sergeant Giles and Lieutenant Dietra." Dorado introduced them before turning back to answer one of Ryan's questions.

"Commander Dayton." Giles nodded at the older man, who was wearing an standard issued uniform in place of the rags he had boarded with. His long, grey hair and rough, full beard belied his apparent rank. Oh, and the odour coming off him didn't help the first impression either.

"You're really from Earth, Commander?" Dietra asked as she glanced up from the control panel.

"Yes," Dayton replied, looking over the instrumentation and watching them pilot. "A long time ago."

"How far away are we?" Giles shot back over his shoulder, his excitement barely contained. "We've been looking for it for so long."

Dayton shook his head. "I really have no idea." His lips quirked at their apparent surprise as well as the young pilot's concept of a _long_ time. _Thirty years_ was a long time.

"What do you think of the shuttle, Dayton?" Dorado asked, watching the man keep a tight grip on the back of Dietra's seat.

"Sort of like riding a bus." Dayton responded quietly while indicating the windows. It was all just a bit overwhelming now that the adrenaline rush had ebbed.

"A bus?" scoffed Ryan as he joined them. "More like a souped-up Ferrari next to a Studebaker truck, eh?"

"I don't know that the Endeavour is quite as archaic as a Studebaker . . . maybe more like a Valiant with a slant six engine. Gets you where you want to go, and runs forever . . . at least if she has all her parts." He defended his ship with a wry grin at Ryan. He looked back to Lieutenant Dietra. "How about the two-bit tour?"

"Two-bit?" Dietra asked.

"Just an expression from home. Worth little. . . spare change." Dayton shrugged, almost further deflated by the fact that they didn't understand. It seemed to accentuate their differences even more. "How about a demonstration? I did fly a space shuttle once. She was a little different than this one though."

"Yeah, I heard the captain's going to try and bring her back to the Fleet." Giles volunteered.

"When Dr. Wilker finds out, he'll be drooling in anticipation," chuckled Dietra.

"Yeah," Giles agreed. "It'll really be something to get a good look at her."

"What's left of her." Dayton clarified. "The Endeavour's been stripped bare by those . . . " his eyes flickered over the lady co-pilot, "vermin."

"A shame." Dietra murmured. "How much of your crew have you lost?"

"Two. That's assuming Dickins pulls through." He nodded to the rear of the shuttle where the biostretchers were secured and Giselle hovered between her charges.

"Have a seat, Commander." Dietra began to rise.

"No, no . . ." He stepped back, raising a hand to stop her.

"Really, it's fine. I don't do much other than sit here and keep an eye on Giles. Of course, that can be a fulltime job in itself." She smiled encouragingly at him, knowing that he would have seen her in the rear of the shuttle shortly after takeoff assisting Giselle in any way she could. "Our shuttles can really be handled by one pilot for the most part. Besides, if it's been that long since you were on a flight deck, I'll bet you're dying to try it."

"Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that, uhhh . . . Lieutenant . . ."

"Lieutenant Dietra, from Blue Squadron. Most of my fellow pilots just call me Dee."

"Dee." Dayton answered with a slight smile. "All right then."

He took her place, listening intently as she leaned over him pointing out scanner, navigation, communication, engine monitors, and fuel consumption instruments. It was kind of nice having the female of the species leaning over him. He took a deep, hopefully inconspicuous breath as her hair brushed against his face. She smelled . . . clean. God above, how long had it been since he had been _near_ anything clean? He smiled at the realization as her sultry, yet informative voice relayed an array of pertinent information that made him suspect that perhaps piloting this craft wouldn't be so extremely difficult after all. At least the basic principles of flying remained the same.

"So that's Ensign Varick ahead of us," Dayton looked up to get a visual on the Viper as he simultaneously pointed to the blip on the scanner. "And that's Starbuck on the rear flank."

"Exactly." Dietra agreed. "I'm sure it was the same in your day, you're . . . I mean your service . . .I . . ." She blushed, hoping she hadn't insulted him by essentially calling him old.

"No problem, uh, Dee," he smiled. "I understand. You were saying?"

"That it was probably the same for you. You're usually more vulnerable from the rear, and unless you're using your rear scanners, by the time you see the enemy on your tail, it might be too late."

"Which is why your most experienced officer brings up the rear." Dayton added. You needed to have eyes in the back of your head, and that was exactly what these scanners gave them. Hell, it had been a long time since he had done his two weeks at Operation Red Flag in Nevada, but the instincts he had honed after enough years in the US Air Force never diminished. "Which I gather Starbuck is."

Dietra nodded, both in affirmation and in satisfaction, recognizing an experienced combat pilot when she saw one.

"So . . . why is Starbuck falling so far behind?" Dayton asked, not understanding the tactics.

Dietra glanced at the scanner. "Good question, Commander. Giles, raise Starbuck."

"Hey Bucko! You're dallying. What's up?" Giles felt Dietra's glare on the top of his head. He squirmed for a micron, also noticing Dayton's disapproving glance. "_Galactica_ shuttle to Viper Two, come in. Do you read me, Starbuck?"

"What's going on?" Dorado asked.

"Not sure. He's not responding." Dietra replied. She patted Dayton on the shoulder, and they traded seats again.

"I repeat, _Galactica_ shuttle to Viper Two. Come in, Starbuck." Giles tried again. He shook his head at Dietra. "According to our intra-flight data link, the Viper's fully functional. She's powered up, but drifting. Thrusters off." He adjusted a setting on the control panel. "Hmm, the environmental controls seem to be malfunctioning. It's as cold in there as Sagan's tomb." He flicked another switch. "I'm reading life signs though. I don't know what's wrong."

"I do." Ryan spoke up. All eyes turned towards him, Dorado nodding solemnly. "He was in no condition to be flying. Hell, when he left the Zone he was already on the brink of exhaustion after them beating the crap out of him and a full day's work harvesting koivee . . . not to mention that lousy excuse for surgery we did on him."

"Surgery?" Dietra gaped. "For what?"

Dorado pulled up his tunic to reveal a thick, white scar displayed prominently against the skin of his abdomen. "Obediators. Implants the pirates put in us when we were captured. We all have them. They inflict pain at the flick of a switch. Pain like you can't imagine. We cut Starbuck's out of him so he could get across the Zone without it being activated. That's how we made our break."

"Then who in Hades Hole cleared him for flight status?" Dietra asked in horror.

The rest of them looked at each other blankly, shaking their heads.

"Knowing Starbuck, he would have left most of the pertinent details out if he wanted to get back to the _Galactica_ to be with Luana." Giles mentioned pointedly. "Big surprise."

"The captain will lambaste him." Dietra shook her head at the break in protocol. "Maybe Varick can get a tow line on him. How long until we're scheduled to rendezvous with the _Galactica_?"

"Thirty centons," replied Giles. "Varick, you copy the last few?"

"Roger, Giles. Will try to snag him." They watched as Varick broke position, and moved to close with Starbuck's ship. He flew around it, scoping it out. "Looks okay from the outside," said the other. "Preparing to shoot a line to him."

"Affirmative, Varick," said Giles. He watched the two ships on the scanner, then Varick spoke again.

"I'm getting a red light on the tow line, Lieutenant Dietra," reported Varick. "She's a no-go."

"What?" asked Dietra.

"My tow line is inoperative," repeated Varick. "Must be from that hit I took earlier. Strangely, my diagnostic assessment didn't pick it up. Awaiting instructions."

"Telemetry link?" Dietra suggested.

"Attempting remote telemetry link." After less than a centon, Varick came back. "Negative on telemetry link as well, Lieutenant."

"What? Two systems down?"

"It seems so. Looks like it's on Starbuck's end this time. Maybe those Wraith jamming mechanisms did more damage to our systems than we thought. Awaiting instructions."

"Frack!" snarled Giles.

"What's wrong?" asked Dayton, who was having difficulty following the technical aspect of the conversation.

"Varick's tow line won't launch, and the telemetry link to take over his ship is off-line. We'll have to snag Starbuck another way," replied Dietra.

"Malfunction?" asked Dayton. Computer systems could be finicky in his experience. Then again, this wasn't a personal computer, and Microsoft wasn't a dominating force in this star system. At least he hoped not.

"Looks like it."

"Is that common?"

"No, it has to be damaged from the blast. Our ground crews keep our ships in good working order. Malfunctions are rare." She bent over the controls, and Dayton gave her some space.

"What about a remote?" asked Varick.

"Too far for the _Galactica _to take her over remotely" said Giles. "And the shuttle isn't equipped for it."

"Okay, so lock on with the grapplers," said Dee. Giles nodded, and they set to.

Dayton watched with keen interest as the shuttle changed course, and pulled alongside Starbuck's Viper, matching its course and speed. Varick backed away, and Giles fired the maneuvering thrusters, bringing the shuttle 'underneath' Starbuck's ship. Slowly and with great care, Dietra fired the jets again, turning the shuttle 'over', till its underside was not two metrons from the Viper's. Even more slowly, she nudged the craft closer, and then Giles powered up the magnetic grappler. There was a dull _clang_ as the two ships connected, and a green light flashed on the panel.

"Okay, here we go," said Giles, slowly nosing the shuttle back on the course for home, and then nudging her speed up gradually. Soon, they were in formation again, headed towards the Fleet.

"That was impressive," Dayton said to Dorado. "Looks like this shuttle is a pretty capable bird."

"Just wait till you see the _Galactica,_" said Giles.

----------

The pirate's retrieval system for bringing an inoperable or damaged ship into the hangar was surprisingly similar to the _Galactica_'s. A hydraulic telescoping beam lift with an adjustable hand-like structure on the end was mounted at the mouth of the hangar. It basically grasped the ship and guided it onto a conveyor belt that sat to one side of the main tarmac within the atmospheric forcefield. The conveyor belt did the rest, bringing the ship within the compound.

Apollo had been a little suspicious when the retrieval operator had approached him and offered to bring the breached Wraith with its dead pilot into the hangar. He wasn't sure what the man was up to, but after the other Wraith landed uneventfully, followed closely by Sheba, he rationalized he had little to lose with taking the man up on his offer.

However, once the operator, Skeff, was far enough away from the other detained men with the captain as his escort, he was more to the point.

"There are women and children in the community. I'll only help you if you promise to find them and evacuate them as well." The man, who looked about the same age as Apollo, looked back over his shoulder. His dark eyes were intent, while his face remained impassive. "This way you have one Wraith to tinker with, and one that will actually fly. " He looked about again, as if afraid someone was listening. "It's a win-win situation for you."

"You think you need to barter your skills to get me to save women and children?" Apollo asked him, using all his will to keep the surprise and disgust from his tone of voice.

The man dropped his eyes from the captain's. "The others wouldn't take it well if they knew I was telling you this."

"They'd leave their women and children behind to certain death, knowing we plan to blow up the base?" The time he couldn't keep the incredulity from his words.

"Well . . . most of them would." He nodded. "There's a couple who hold their children dear." He stopped in front of the lift's control panel, flicking the switches until videcam images of the impotent Wraith, still attached to the tow line of Boomer's Viper, appeared.

"I don't understand." Apollo admitted. "Are you telling me these women . . . are also prisoners here. And their children?"

The man looked at him strangely. "Prisoners? Hell, no. They're not prisoners. We kept the damn prisoners in the tunnels to harvest the koivee and mine the ore."

"Then what? Why wouldn't you tell us right away that there are more people who need to be evacuated?" Apollo demanded.

"Because it's the trump card." Skeff started powering up his equipment. "If you _think_ that there are children still in the tunnels, you might not blow the base. " He sighed, as he flipped up another bank of switches. "Actually, it was Torg's idea. But that's assuming you have more respect for Human life than Torg does." He shrugged seemingly indifferent to the answer.

"Somehow I think most beings do." Apollo returned acerbically, wondering who this _Torg_ was, as he watched the monitor while Boomer released his tow line.

"It's the way of life here. If ya can call it a life." He shrugged. "Beats the hell out of being a prisoner." He maneuvered the beam lift and proceeded to secure the Wraith.

"_You_ were a prisoner?" Apollo asked, admiring the man's expertise while at the same time reminding himself it was all gained through scavenging ships.

"A long time ago. They gave me an offer I couldn't refuse." He met Apollo's eye. "I would have died if I had been down there much longer. That damned Obediator in my guts. I don't like working with the bastards, but at least I'm still alive. Besides . . . Ciaren and the wee ones make it all bearable. If it weren't for them . . ."

"Dada!"

Apollo and the other turned to see a small group of warriors escorting the women and children into the hangar. From as far away as they were, the small boy could still spot his father at his familiar work station and made a beeline across the hangar, oblivious to the uniformed strangers, and the small groups of pirates and hangar crew kneeling with hands behind heads in various locations.

"You already found them!" It was more of a statement of relief than an accusation. The father squatted down beside Apollo to await his boy who wobbled from side to side on bowed legs as he ran as fast as his tiny limbs would carry him. The man gathered the small body tightly to him and stood up shaking his head in obvious relief as he spotted his woman and other children. "Thank you, Lord," he muttered before turning back to Apollo. The _Galactica_ Strike Captain could have sworn he saw a tear in the other's eye. "And my thanks to you as well."

Apollo nodded, deciding there and then that he would keep the women and children separate from the men. Obviously, there were some strange dynamics at play here. He watched curiously as the women kept their children close to them, but very few even looked towards the pirates to assure themselves their men were even still alive. Then again, the closer the women drew to him, the more he could begin to understand why.

While the pirates and hangar crew were all on the lean side, none of them had the malnourished and abused look of the women. Several sported bruises on their thin bodies, and they kept their frightened eyes slavishly downcast as if by habit.

Apollo found himself shaking his head, feeling anger wash over him, his gaze searching instinctually for Sheba. She was waiting for Boomer to climb out of his Viper, having only just landed. She looked agitated. Mind you, if he was a woman and that bunch of tormented souls had just walked in, it would probably upset him too. As it was, he was now simmering with anger and disgust . . . and wondering why the frack he was trying so damn hard to control it. _Because you don't want to scare these poor victims any more than they already are, that's why._

He watched Skeff finish his task, suddenly realizing the child had darted back to his mother. Again, Apollo's eyes followed with interest. This particular woman, while still painfully thin, lacked the ritual bruising. She also followed the events with surreptitious interest, peeking out from behind long, braided, raven hair while keeping her head down, her face close to the swaddled infant she carried. One more child clung to her leg, her face hidden in her mother's tattered skirt. The woman met the captain's eyes for a fleeting moment, before glancing away in sudden fear at being discovered in her inappropriate and rebellious behavior.

Apollo's view was abruptly blocked by Jolly's frame as the lieutenant strode towards him, leaving Greenbean watching over their flock. The usually jovial man looked intent as he approached his captain. So intent, the captain left the side of the pirate to meet him.

"Skipper, this is one strange society. Just take a look at those poor people," he pointed back to the women and children. "Frankly, most of them are already jockeying for position for any available Colonial Warriors who would be willing to—and I quote—_improve our situation_." Jolly shook his head, his eyes still on Liadan and her family.

"I just had a similar conversation on this end." Apollo nodded. "Did they talk to you, Jolly? Any idea if they _want_ to be reunited with the men? I get a strong feeling they don't," Apollo opined.

"I agree with you. And I tried to dig a little on the way up here, but once Liaden realized I wasn't interested in adopting her family, she moved on to Greenbean. And then Sandor, and then Elek . . . "

"I think I get the drift, Jolly," Apollo assured him.

"She was basically offering to let me use her body sexually in exchange for my protection," Jolly continued, horrified at the encounter. "We assured them _all_ that that wasn't necessary, but I don't think they believed us."

Apollo sighed. "I take it that's their way of life."

"No kidding. She went into some graphic detail about her talents," he could feel his face flushing again at the very thought of the woman's crude words. "What are we going to do with these people, Apollo?" Jolly asked a little desperately. "I mean, their value system is so vastly different from our own," he raised his eyebrows, "if you can even apply the word here. Where would they fit in?"

"Perhaps where they came from?" Apollo suggested. "They weren't all born here, and there are no signs of any long-range transports. It only follows that there could be habitable planets out there relatively close by that the _Galactica_ hasn't scanned yet."

"And what if these habitable planets are full of people like ourselves?" Jolly crossed his arms over his chest. "Are we supposed to dump this delightful little group of cutthroats and harlots onto their doorstep?"

Apollo clapped a hand on the big man's tense shoulders, "Jolly, let's deal with that when we come to it. Besides, it's really the Council's call. Not yours and mine."

Sometimes it was good to not be in charge. "Thank the blessed Lords for that."

"Amen," Apollo nodded in agreement. His lips quirked in a smirk. Sire Dracus, the puritan, was going to _love_ this.

----------

A throbbing pain in his right eye and gut reluctantly drew Starbuck away from the blissfulness of lethe. He groaned as he reached for his face, only to be hampered by his flight helmet.

_What the frack?_

Through the blurry vision of his one good eye, he was certain he could see the star system rolling by. He glanced down at his instruments, blinking to clear his sight. He was moving! As surely as he _wasn't_ in control of his Viper, he _was_ moving. He immediately reached for his control stick when the comm crackled to life.

"Are you waking up in there, Starbuck?"

His instinctive reaction to hit his thrusters and get out of there—wherever _there_ was—came to a sudden halt as he tried to place the familiar voice. "Dee?" he mumbled.

"Yeah, Bucko. It's Dee. You're hitching a ride back to base, so don't you _dare_ try to engage your turbos." She warned him, worrying about how he would react when he awoke moaning in pain and likely disoriented. "Do you copy?"

"Wouldn't think of it, sweetheart," he muttered, wincing as he realized that he was about to do just that. The thought that he could have torn the shuttle apart as his ship struggled against the transport's magnetic pull, only contributed to his persistent nausea. He shut his turbines down and shook his head against the utter misery that had enveloped his body. It would no longer be ignored. "What happened?"

"I was hoping you could tell me, " Dietra replied, her voice changing to a light bantering tone. "And that's 'Lieutenant' to you, Lieutenant. What's your condition?"

"Inverted apparently," he replied in bemusement, putting together the fact that he was magnetically attached to the underside of the shuttle. "Of course, being on the bottom . . ."

"Not what I meant, Starbuck, and you know it. Besides, it's all relative out here." She gave him a moment to compose himself, knowing full well the innuendo was his way of stalling for time as he gathered his wits. "We're on our way to rendezvous with the _Galactica_. They don't know it yet, but they'll be landing your ship remotely. Got that?"

"Remotely?" he asked, his ire up immediately. He had never been brought in remotely, except in Academy training sims, and he wasn't about to start today.

"Well, at least your hearing is bang on." Dee remarked, hearing the disgust in his voice. "You passed out, Starbuck. According to my passengers, you shouldn't have been flying in the first place. If you think for one milli-centon that I'm going to let you take a chance at destroying the landing bay to assuage your ego, you'd better think again." She paused to let him digest her words. "You'd do the same in my place, and you know it, Lieutenant."

He bit back another groan as his stomach convulsed. His hand found its way beneath his damp tunic, where the skin was as hot as Hades Hole, and seeping with an unknown cesspool of festering microorganisms. He jolted upright as his finger accidentally found its way into deeper tissue. Apparently, Ryan's stitch work had come apart. Yeah, just the mere thought was all it took to turn his traitorous stomach against him and he could feel the agony of his abdomen contracting as his stomach heaved. The small amount of bilious fluid burned all the way up his throat and erupted into his mouth, where, ever mindful of the state of his cockpit, he forced himself to swallow it down again. He grunted in disgust. _Giles owes you big time for that, Bucko._

"Oh, tell me that wasn't him puking. Please!" Giles begged, shaking his head at the thought of vomit flying through his cockpit. Hopefully, the flight helmet caught most of it.

"Starbuck, talk to me." Dietra ordered him. She shook her head with rising concern, as she heard him groan again. "We might have to load him in the shuttle's hold, after all."

"We should be rendezvousing with the _Galactica_ in fifteen centons. It would take longer than that to load him, and he's obviously in no shape to help out." Giles returned pragmatically, forcing the disgusting vision of his fighter's interior back to his dark recesses of his imagination. It would take some technical maneuvering by Starbuck to get the Viper into the transport's hold. There was no way they could do it without him. "Starbuck! Report!"

"Can't a guy . . . upchuck in peace?" Starbuck returned, frowning as the comm whined incessantly at him. Pulling his helmet aside, he wiped his mouth with his filthy sleeve and reached for the water bottle. Swishing out his mouth, he paused, and then with an irreverent shrug, forced himself to swallow once more to quell the burning in his throat. "I'm okay," he assured them, readjusting the helmet.

"Yeah, you sound it." Dietra replied sarcastically. "Give it to me straight, Starbuck. How bad are you?"

He sighed, pausing to take inventory. Right eye swollen shut and throbbing so badly he could almost see stars with it; stomach wound red hot, seeping, and probably infected; slightly light-headed and still nauseous; various aches and scrapes which he had been able to successfully dismiss until now . . . Yeah, he'd been a complete idiot to think he could jump in a Viper and continue on as if he was some kind of superhuman fighting machine. But still . . . he _had_ to see Luana. Find out if she was okay . . . _Time to cut your losses, Bucko. Let them take in you remotely, and get your dumb astrum to the Life Station ASAP_. "Not as bad as you think, but worse than I figured." _Lords, Apollo was going to kill him._

"What in Hades Hole were you_ thinking_?" Dietra blasted him. "Not only could you have been killed, but you put other people at risk!"

Starbuck let out a deep breath, immediately regretting it when his stomach twitched painfully once again. "How was I supposed to know you were gonna magnetically . . . " He hesitated in his defense, knowing she was correct in her assessment. He'd based his decision on his desire to ensure Luana was alright, not his physical condition and capabilities. But damn it, he really had thought he could pull it off! His body had never failed him so completely before. Then again, he had never been so overwrought with confusing emotions regarding a woman before either . . . _You're a wreck, Bucko. Both physically and emotionally, you're a frackin' wreck. _ "You're right, Dee. I guess I wasn't being very . . . realistic."

"Well, he did fly a couple pirates into an early grave." Giles added, immediately warding off any uncomfortable scenes of apology and regret. It was beginning to sound frighteningly akin to primetime on the IFB. Not that he would ever admit to watching it.

"You know, his mental capacity for reasoning _could_ be affected by his physical condition." Ryan suggested, standing akimbo next to Dayton and watching the tense situation play out on the flight deck.

Dayton raised his eyebrows, considering his peer's words. "Or, like most pilots, he could just be one stubborn SOB."

Dietra paused to smile ruefully at the commander's acute perceptiveness. The more she got to know him, the better she liked him. "Exactly."


	58. Chapter 58

Shaking his head in absolute disbelief was about all Dayton could manage as he drew closer to the leviathan that they referred to as the Battlestar _Galactica_. For some minutes, the Colonial warship had been on the shuttle's scope. From what little he'd learned so far, the blip represented an enormous contact. "Good Lord," he said, as they at last came into visual range. The huge vessel just kept growing. And growing. And growing. . .

"She makes the International Space Station look like a school boy clubhouse," Ryan remarked at his commander's side. "She's enormous. How many aircraft carriers do you think you could load on that thing?"

"I don't know. Maybe five or six _Nimitz_-class. Easy." Dayton returned, blowing out a breath.

"Geez." Ryan muttered.

"You can say that again."

Ryan smiled. "Do you really want me to?"

"No, not really."

"Thought not."

It was somehow grounding—which was ironic, since they were in space—having Ryan there beside him. If he had been alone with the Colonials it would have seemed a bit unreal, as if he had somehow been beamed into an episode of _. . . oh, what was that old show? Uhh . . . Star Trek_. But Ryan had been at Dayton's side for so long, balancing the commander's cautious cynicism with those slightly askew but always poignant perceptions of his, that it brought him back to reality.

Dayton continued to shake his head as the warship grew impossibly larger and larger, the closer they came. Passing alongside her, he saw the gargantuan letters, spelling out the ship's name in the Colonial script, not that he professed that he could read it—his proficiency had been entirely in their spoken language. He sighed, realizing that despite his master's degree in aerospace engineering and his extensive experience as a combat and test pilot, he was actually illiterate in their eyes.

They sailed slowly along, Giles and Dee obviously relishing the chance to show their ship off. Then, slowly, they swung around her and made for the landing bay. Lieutenant Dietra was giving them the lowdown on her specs. The buzz words went by in a blur as Dayton watched the immense ship dwarf them on approach to the bay. Finally it blocked out even the view of space itself, till it filled the ports. And still it got bigger.

Alpha Bay. Hell, he had been on some of the US Navy's most advanced aircraft carriers which seemed smaller than the landing bay they were closing in on. Thirty-two blaster main batteries; twenty-four secondary anti-aircraft batteries; two mega-turbo-laser cannons forward, two aft, and two port and starboard; twelve-twenty megatron solonite missile tubes; two-four hundred megatron solonite bombs . . . talk about yer freakin' weapons of mass destruction!

It was unnerving when he considered that this massive warship had been but one of a fleet of similar Battlestars, designed to be spacecraft carriers, battleships and mobile units of operations. Each one was capable of laying waste an entire planet, should all her weapons be unleashed together, according to the attractive lieutenant.

Attractive. Yeah, he had noticed. He was old, not dead.

Bloody hell, if this was what the losing side's battleships looked like, what on Earth did the victors have? It chilled him to the bone to try and imagine the Colonial's mortal enemy and their considerable arsenal.

----------

Everything was in readiness on the _Galactica_. The landing teams were in place and awaiting orders for dispatch to the pirate asteroid. The shuttle had already released Starbuck's Viper and was landing. The telemetry link had been established to safely bring the young man's fighter into Alpha Bay. Medical teams were standing by.

Adama considered the woman before him as he awaited the final word from Alpha Bay's landing signal officer before beginning their final approach to the pirate compound, or as close as they could get to it.

"Someone needs to tell him, father. _ Someone _has to be there for him."

Athena was so like her mother sometimes it often took his breath away. Day in, day out she rarely wavered in her support, her presence a reassuring and dependable constant in his life. Yet, when she identified an oversight, she never hesitated to step forward to point it out.

Now, he could tell by the oh-so Ila tilt of her head, the way her eyes refused to let his go, her hand lightly, but determinedly on his arm, she wouldn't be deterred. "Go," he nodded.

Athena squeezed the commander's arm lightly in acknowledgement before nodding and turning on her heel to head for Alpha Bay.

----------

It was like CORA without the sparkling personality, Starbuck reflected as his ship's instruments reacted to the _Galactica_'s remote link and his fighter was brought in for a landing. He caught himself holding his breath, uncomfortable with the entire concept of someone else controlling his ship, as she touched down and hurled along the runway.

He knew Varick's Viper would be following him in. The shuttle had already landed and the health team would be rushing Dickins and Rooke into decon before continuing on to the Life Station. Within centons, he would be doing the same.

He flicked the canopy release as the Viper rolled to a stop. He opened his eyes, unaware he had closed them, to see a face on either side of him, covered in the protective uniform of an occlusive medical isolation suit. A biomonitor was running over his frame and his flight helmet was mysteriously gone.

"Fractured right zygoma and orbit, febrile, contusions, abrasions, and . . . what the Lords . . .?" Salik's voice halted in his monotone commentary.

Starbuck could feel his tunic jerked up and Salik leaned down, gently palpating his abdomen with his gloved hands. Still hurt like Hades Hole though.

"Can you get out, or do you need help?" the Chief Medical Officer asked, gripping the warrior's shoulder to get his undivided attention.

"I can do it," Starbuck replied evenly. "How's Lu?"

Salik ignored the question, grabbing the warrior under his arm and nodding at Med Tech Hinnus to do the same. "Looks like peritonitis. We need to move. All together now, on three. One, two, three."

Starbuck had started to object at the fact that they were going to assist him from his cockpit. Hades, even after a crash landing on Atilla, he had still been able to get himself out of his fighter. But as they propelled him to a vertical position and began to help him over the side of the craft, his vision began to blur, his mouth began to water, and his head started to spin. "Fra . . . "

"I've got him, Doctor." Hinnus assured the CMO, as Starbuck collapsed into the burly tech and he lowered the lieutenant into the waiting arms of his landing crew.

"Welcome home, Starbuck." Jenny murmured to him, brushing his matted hair from his eyes as the others settled him onto the hover-stretcher.

"Jen . . ." The chief warrant officer's concerned features finally came into focus. Wait a centon! Salik hadn't answered him about Luana.

"Start a line, and get him into decon."

Salik's voice. But where the frack was he? Starbuck lifted his head to look for the physician, but he was surrounded by a wall of bodies. He could feel the cold steel of surgical scissors slicing through his sleeve as his arm was held in place. A brief coolness and a slight stabbing pressure, and an intravenous was initiated.

"Doc?" he murmured above the din.

Voices talked over him as medical analyzers spat out results and the information was announced and recorded. Salik snapped off a flurry of further instructions, his voice fading as though he was leaving the scene. Starbuck struggled to sit up. He _needed_ to know. . .

"Easy, Starbuck."

Suddenly, where Jenny had been, Athena now was. Strong arms pushed him back down . . . though he was reasonably sure they weren't Athena's.

"Lieutenant, we need to get him into decon." Med Tech Hinnus informed the bridge officer.

"I'm coming with him." Athena announced matter-of-factly, as if it was common practice.

"Fine then. Are we ready?"

"Antibiotics are up."

"Analgesia?"

"Are you having pain?"

It was almost like a cyclone rotating above him. He seemed strangely separated from it all, and was strangely content to be so until Hinnus' face was suddenly a few centimetrons from his own, but upside down. Starbuck blinked at the intrusion.

"Are you having pain?" Hinnus asked again, squeezing the lieutenant's shoulder.

"No," he replied after a pause. He winced as someone or something probed his abdominal wound to try and prove him wrong. "Where Dr. Salik?"

"On his way to surgery." Hinnus replied, backing off and guiding the hover-stretcher. "The others just came out of decon. We're going in."

Starbuck became aware of the landing bay passing him by as he was propelled towards a decon chamber. "But he didn't answer my . . . " He started to raise himself up on an elbow, changing his mind as savaged stomach muscles protested vociferously by cramping in pain. "Do you know . . . is Ensign Luana okay?" It was more of a gasp than a question.

The med tech's eyes flickered to the person opposite him. Starbuck looked over to see Athena again. _Right . . . Athena's here . . . She looks so . . . goddamned compassionate . . ._ A cold terror infiltrated his senses. "Athena?"

At that moment the hatch for the decontamination chamber _clanged_ into place with a finality that was unsettling. Athena leaned over him.

"Starbuck, Luana pulled through surgery, but suffered a massive seizure. After that a cardiac arrest . . . They did get her back, but . . . "

Her words caught in her throat as she watched the anguish sweep over him. He drew quick rasping breaths into his lungs and clenched his fists, blinking back tears from the eye that wasn't swollen shut. Combined with his atrocious appearance from his recent experience, he looked so lost and forlorn that she could in turn feel prickling at the backs of her eyes as they welled with sympathetic tears.

"But what?" he croaked, the words barely audible, as the machinery fired up.

"They put her into . . . I hope the terminology is correct," she glanced at the med tech. "A medically induced coma?"

Hinnus nodded. "It relieves pressure on the brain, and lets the body rest so it can recover from the trauma of her injury and surgery. Not to mention those two cardiac arrests."

"Coma? Cardiac arrests?" Starbuck repeated numbly. He closed his eyes feeling as though the weight of the _Galactica_ was bearing down on top of his chest, crushing the air from his lungs. He struggled to a sitting position, aware of Hinnus' hand on his back guiding him up. In a micron, the back of the hover-stretcher was elevated and supporting him.

"Medically induced coma, Lieutenant," Hinnus elucidated. "It's basically heavy sedation."

"So you can . . . just take her out of it again?" He grabbed the med tech's beefy arm, holding to it like a lifeline.

"Technically." Hinnus replied with a nod.

"Technically?" Starbuck asked, tightening his grip, his voice rising. "What the frack does that mean?"

"When she's ready." Hinnus responded patiently. "That'll be up to Dr. Salik. They're monitoring her brain function." The grip on his arm tightened in reaction, the desperation in the warrior's eyes plainly visible.

"Starbuck," Athena grabbed his clenched fist, prying it from the med tech's arm. "Listen to me!"

He shifted his gaze to Athena. "Tell me." A plea for the complete and absolute truth.

She nodded, grasping his hand with her own. "When they found her, she was already . . . " His gaze didn't waver as he waited for her to finish, "dead. They resuscitated her, but had no way of knowing how long her brain went without oxygen. There could be permanent damage. Or she could be just fine. They don't know yet. Dr. Salik says if she wakes up, they can experiment with neural stimulation treatments . . . "

"_If_ she wakes up?"

"That's what he said. I'm sorry, Starbuck. That's all I really know for sure. I think the question seems to be how much neurological function she will have. Even Salik doesn't seem to be able to give us a definitive prognosis."

He shook his head, waiting for her to tell him the upside of it all. There didn't appear to be one. He gulped in a breath, wishing he could somehow shrivel up and disappear within the vacuous space that was his misery. His eyes closed tightly against the pain that seemed to hit him in waves, pummeling him with each thought of the beautiful spirit that was so recently just an innocent girl from Empyrean. Lords of Kobol, in the blink of an eye she had been taken from him. He choked back a sob as the irony of the situation struck him . . . returning whence she came.


	59. Chapter 59

Adama felt irritatingly akin to a child on the last day of school. Though he was physically on the bridge and listening to Rigel announce that the shuttles and landing teams had departed for the asteroid base, his head . . . and his heart . . . were already in the Life Station where actual Humans from Earth—or so he was assured--were being assessed by Dr. Salik's health team.

"Commander, we've managed to raise Captain Apollo." There had been some doubt about the reliability of communications penetrating the asteroid field. "He reports he has forty-three people to transfer to the _Galactica_, about half of which are women and children. He said it would be best to keep the pirates separated from the others at this point." Tigh informed him.

Adama raised his eyebrows. "Women and children?"

"Yes, Sir." Tigh confirmed. "They are also in need of medical assessments and care. And some nutritious food."

"Food? Is it that bad over there?"

"Apparently, Commander." Tigh flipped a switch, and a scan came on a monitor. It was one taken by the warriors on their first sweep through the asteroid base. "As you can see, these people are emaciated and appear close to starvation. According to Lieutenants Jolly and Greenbeans' preliminary report, there was little food in evidence, beyond some native root they grow, and the water filtration facilities . . ." The XO grimaced as the scans showed old, rusted, and filth-encrusted equipment. "According to Jolly, the stench was incredible."

"Good God!" said Adama, his stomach turning at the thought of Humans, or indeed _any_ sentient beings, living in such vile squalor. "I understand Starbuck was a mess after barely a day there. How in the Lords names could anyone survive yahrens in that . . ." he gestured at the screen, "that cesspool?"

"Sheer willpower is all I can think of . . . or survival instinct," said Tigh. "I just hope no unknown alien organisms make it back with them or our teams."

Adama took a deep breath. The medical team would be stretched thin by the sheer numbers appearing in their unit. Of course, temporary facilities to accommodate the evacuees, until the Council could decide what to do with them, would also be necessary. The brig came foremost to mind, at least for the surviving pirates. "Alert the Life Station. I don't want a repeat of what happened last time."

"Yes, Sir. Already done." Tigh nodded, recalling the disease that had struck down most of the pilots, and nearly resulted in their destruction by the Cylons over Kobol. "Due to the unexpected numbers of civilians on the base, they haven't been able to give us an estimate of exactly how long the landing crews will need to extract the resources. They've been mostly occupied with just finding and detaining the occupants."

"Very well. And our visitors?" Adama asked, somehow mollified that Tigh was also curious enough to check on the Earthmen in the Life Station.

"Dr. Paye and Salik have rushed Lieutenant Rooke of the _Pegasus_, " he looked at his data pad, "and Captain Dickins of the . . . uh . . . United States Navy into surgery. No word yet on their condition. The others are being quarantined until a full medical assessment can be completed."

As military Commander of the Fleet and President of the Council of Twelve, as much as he wanted to present himself in Life Station to personally greet the Earthmen, as well as the _Pegasus_ pilots, he was well aware that he had to put his own personal safety first and let the men be cleared from a medical point of view by the health team. And if he was too excited at the prospect of meeting Earthmen to put logic ahead of enthusiasm, Tigh and Tinia had both been there to ground him as his exuberance threatened to subdue his rational thought. He smiled ruefully. It had been a very long time since _that _had happened.

"Adama," a brisk voice drew his attention.

Adama turned to behold Sires Feo, Domra, and Dracus. "Yes?" he responded as neutrally as he could manage, despite the abrupt shadow cast over his former exuberance by the pernicious presence of the Council members.

"We're here to officially file a complaint against Dr. Salik for denying us access to the recent refugees." Sire Feo blustered as he dabbed at his upper lip with a monogrammed handkerchief. From the smell wafting his way, the Sire had been busy dining when the news had reached him. The scent of Virgonian truffles in a fiery pepper sauce was unmistakable.

"Feo, I was unaware you were aboard, never mind that you were interfering with the duties of the Life Station." The commander returned to the corpulent Council Member, reminding them all that, as usual, he wholeheartedly supported his Chief Medical Officer, especially in the physician's own arena.

"Adama, we _know_ that you found Colonial Warriors from the _Pegasus_ on that asteroid base." Domra challenged him.

"Yes we did, Sire. One of them is in surgery as we speak, his prognosis uncertain, and the other is quarantined. Dr. Salik's health team will be the only ones permitted to see them for now." Adama reiterated for their benefit. "And that includes myself, Sire."

"We also understand you recovered a crashed Viper and a deceased pilot," said Domra. "Is this true?"

"It is. We have identified the unfortunate young man, an Ensign Szabo, and are searching the Fleet database for any possible next of kin."

"But what of Cain? And the _Pegasus_?" Dracus asked, brushing some imaginary lint from his immaculate robes.

"I don't know where they are." Adama shook his head. "Yet. But I'm sure you realize he's no more likely to break communications silence and to try to contact us, than I am about to broadcast our own location across this solar system in the remote hope that he picks it up."

"But Adama, just think what it would mean to our people to realize that Commander Cain survived the impossible once again!" Dracus declared.

"And if that is true, we will tell them. Lord knows they could use some good news to buoy their spirits on this long journey." He shook his head, thinking privately that this sat one hundred percent better with his conscience than Lieutenant Starbuck and Ensign Luana's somewhat nebulous engagement. An Imperial Wedding indeed! "But not until we have properly debriefed Captain Dorado."

"And that won't happen until he's out of quarantine." Domra surmised.

"Correct." Adama nodded, crossing his arms over his chest.

Feo sighed loudly. "And you'll tell us when the quarantine is lifted?"

"With undue haste." Adama agreed, his face carefully blank, and his voice monotone. "But remember, as Colonial Warriors and officers, they will be debriefed according to protocol and regulations before they will be available to the Council."

"Surely, Adama . . . " Feo stuttered.

"The debriefing scans will, of course, be made available to all Council members, Sire Feo." Adama smiled what he hoped was a mollifying smile. "Sires."

"We shall hold you to that, Commander," said Dracus scowling.

"I wouldn't expect otherwise, Sire Dracus." He waited a beat. "In the meantime, perhaps you could better occupy your time trying to come up with a ship that can shelter approximately twenty women and children from the asteroid base." He held back a smirk as Sire Feo turned up his nose at the mundane assignment. "Is that all?"

They nodded immediately in agreement, as if they were concerned the Commander might find other equally enthralling duties for them to attend to. Adama watched them reluctantly retreat with stiff backs and sour faces as he returned to his bridge duties. It wasn't much, but at least the news of the Earthmen hadn't leaked out . . . yet.

----------

"Still a prison, but one Helluva an improvement if you ask me." Ryan grinned as he stretched out his long limbs on the Life Station bed, wriggling his way deeper into the mattress and enjoying the comparatively cushy and plush feeling as it supported his frame. He hit the button that raised the head of his bed, and then started adjusting the height of the bed up and down, occasionally putting a foot onto the floor until it was exactly right. Then he started all over again. "Hey, this thing even adjusts the temperature of the mattress! Cool!"

"Hmm." Dayton responded as he pulled a comb through his long—but for the first time in years—clean hair. The four astronauts had been quarantined in the Life Station Isolation room with Captain Dorado. Apparently, Lieutenant Starbuck would be joining them shortly as well until they were all officially declared sufficiently deloused. The so-called decontamination chamber in the landing bay was apparently inadequate in the view of the ship's Chief Medical Officer. At least the small ward had a shower . . . uh, turbo wash. Man alive, it was good to be clean.

"It's weird going from the filth of the base to this," Baker ventured, glad to be speaking English again as he pulled on clean clothes for the second time in a couple hours. The uniform he had temporarily worn from the shuttle lay discarded in a basket with the others. He smirked as he considered it was 'dirty' in the eyes of his hosts. Funny, when he compared it to the rags he had worn just before it.

They had all felt a bit like miscast actors in a cheesy science fiction movie as they were ushered by medical staff, covered from head to toe in isolation gear, from the shuttle to the decon chambers, and then to the Life Station, avoiding all physical contact with the Battlestar's crew. It hadn't escaped their notice that Colonial Warriors had flanked them, ensuring they went only where directed.

"I think I'll have another shower just because I can!" Porter smiled at them from his bed as he pulled on a soft, civilian styled tunic over his bruised torso before he turned to gaze in wonder at the field of stars through the porthole. Next to each bed was a small screen on a moveable arm, giving them access to any number of files in the ship's library. But right now, Porter had eyes only for the stars.

"Well, first Dorado has to move his butt out of there." Ryan returned. "Besides, in case you didn't notice, we were still limited to about three minutes apiece. I'm sure there's a water restriction in place."

"Yeah? Well, until they explain that to me in English, I think I'll just feign ignorance." Porter replied sardonically. "Any scissors around here? I feel like a Hippie. I'm dying to get rid of this hair." He pulled at his long beard distastefully, simultaneously sweeping his greying hair back over his shoulder.

Dayton laughed humourlessly. "Do you actually think they'd give us a sharp instrument that we could use as a weapon?"

"A weapon? Hell, I just want to look a bit less like my sister." Porter retorted.

"How much of a beard did your sister have?" Ryan grinned.

"Mmm . . . more of a moustache actually. Mind you, I hear after menopause the ole hormones _do _play havoc with stray follicular growth so by now, who knows? My Granny used to pluck her chin, and her eyebrows . . . most of her face actually, now that I think of it. Her eyesight was none too keen either." He chuckled. "Speaking of which, I swear that_ I _have more hair growing out of my ears and nose, than on the top of my head." He grinned ruefully, running his fingers over his thinning pate, as commiserating chuckles filled the small room, and then he paused for a moment. "Do you think we'll actually reach Earth in our lifetime? I wonder if my family. . . " He trailed off.

"If what Starbuck and Dorado say is true, we have no way of knowing when we'll reach Earth . . . or _if_ we'll reach Earth." Dayton replied, continuing to comb through his steel grey mane. "Besides, we've talked about this before, Porter, we might not even arrive in the same era that we left. Could be a thousand years after . . . "

"Or a couple thousand years before." Ryan added nodding. "That could be interesting." He looked far away for a moment. "Imagine actually being there for the birth of Christ. We could find out how much of our written history is truth and how much is fabricated," he mused.

"Pagan." Dayton accused him with a faint smile.

"Hey, I'm just suggesting that recorded history was often a matter of opinion, usually that of the powerful and learned. I'm not just talking about religion here." He shrugged. "I'd love to meet the historian that was entirely objective, but I'm damn sure he didn't exist." He grinned mischievously in the NASA commander's direction. "Especially within the church."

"_On ne doit, aux morts que la verite. _ To the dead, we owe only truth!" interjected Porter, "Voltaire." He grinned as Dayton wrinkled his nose in his general direction.

"I mean, when you think about it, what _is_ truth anyway?" Ryan continued "Merely a perception."

"Any whiskey around here?" Baker asked, shaking his head at them. "I'm going to need it if you guys keep this up. Now _that's_ the truth!"

Dayton refused to rise to the baiting. It wasn't the first time in thirty years they had discussed their differences in opinion. Friendship, shared circumstances, and being God-knows-how-far from home had somehow diminished what at one time had been passionate debates over religion and philosophy—especially while sharing a couple drinks of Asteroid Whiskey. "I hate to interrupt your heathen ramblings, Ryan, but have you guys thought about the fact that we could bring about the end of our own world by allowing these people to lead their enemy—the same enemy that destroyed their worlds—to Earth?"

An eerie silence settled on the room as the men looked at each other in abrupt and abject comprehension.

"How do we stop them?" Ryan asked his commander, his usual outwardly appearing light mood replaced by a rare, almost palpable vehemence.

The door to the turbo wash hissed open and they turned as one, as a freshly scrubbed Dorado walked into the room pulling on a uniform tunic. "Lords of Kobol, that feels good!" He stopped as he became uncomfortably aware of being scrutinized as though he was some kind of malignant creature from another planet. "What?"

"Just discussing . . . religion and history," replied Dayton, truthfully enough. "Earth's, of course."

"Well, we'll have to dig into that sometime," said the _Pegasus _pilot, relaxing a bit. "I'm as curious as anyone about Earth. We can have a peek at _The Book of the Word _too when things settle down a bit."

"_And_ we're wondering how long it will take to get there," added Ryan, glancing at Dayton meaningfully.

"Well, I heard from Captain Apollo," said Dorado continuing, "that they did pick up a transmission several sectars ago that he thinks might be from Earth. I don't know all the details, but it seems they have some images of ancient spacecraft. Maybe you can have a look and let them know for sure. Depending on what kind of frequency it came in on, that might be an indication of how far away Earth is."

The room fell silent.

----------

The asteroid base was abuzz with activity as the landing teams hurried to their assigned tasks. The shifts would be long, the breaks virtually nonexistent, but everybody was aware that every extra centon they wasted would leave the Fleet without the protection of the Battlestar.

"Skipper, the pirates are ready for transport." Jolly advised the Strike Captain.

"They've been checked out by Med Tech Tone?" Apollo asked.

"Yes, sir. Nothing critical that can't wait for the Life Station. Both Tone and Cassiopeia report that these people—especially the children—are crawling with some form of louse-like insect."

Cassiopeia was currently assessing the women and children in a separate shuttle from her colleague. Apollo shook his head slightly, noting with interest the lieutenant scratching franticly at the back of his head. "Head louse?"

"Any hair, anywhere." Jolly smiled weakly, stilling his movements. "I think it's . . . easily transferred, Apollo."

"I gathered that," Apollo sighed, scratching at a spot behind his left ear and fervently hoping it was psychosomatic. "Frack. You'd think Dorado or Starbuck might have mentioned it."

"Giselle didn't report any signs of it from that bunch, though I don't think she ever actually looked at Starbuck." Jolly replied, absently combing through his moustache with his fingernails. "Maybe the conditions of the lower tunnels were less conducive to the louse."

"Are you suggesting that we're all going to end up having to be deloused, and Starbuck probably isn't?" Apollo shook his head at the irony.

"The famous Starbuck Luck?" Jolly returned with a pained expression.

"Hmm." The Starbuck Luck was about to run out. Word had made it back to the captain about Starbuck passing out in his cockpit, necessitating the remote-controlled landing on the _Galactica _by the Landing Signal Officer. He would be having words with his wingman about that and not-a-few other transgressions since Starbuck had decided to take on a base full of pirates all by himself. Hades Hole, Apollo decided, he might even bring back a carefully isolated crab louse and plant it in the lieutenant's pressure suit for good measure before they left for their next long-range patrol. He grinned evilly at the mental image.

"Apollo!"

They turned to see Cassiopeia striding towards them. Her hair was carefully tied back and concealed under a translucent covering that made her look as though she had a blue fungus sprouting from the top of her head. As silly as it looked, it would probably keep her from contracting the parasite that was likely to infect the landing party.

"Are there any more liquid primaries on the other shuttles? I think that a lot of the solid food is going to be too difficult for the children to digest in their present condition."

"Probably. Jolly, check it out." He patted the lieutenant on the shoulder as he turned to go. "I hear they're carrying a parasite of some sort?"

"Yes, strangely though, most of the men don't have it. As though they're somehow resistant to it."

"Any theories?" Apollo asked.

"It could be something in their diet that makes them unattractive as hosts to the parasites." Cassie suggested.

"They all seem dang unattractive to me." Apollo mentioned.

"Apollo!" Cassiopeia chastised him, though a glimmer of a smile hovered on her lips. "These women and children have been through a lot. A living Hades Hole really. I was speaking to a couple of them, and most of the pirates treat them as virtual slaves. Worse, really. They're forced to use what God gave them to barter for food and supplies for their children. And some of those men had violent appetites. I've got people with badly healed fractures. And worse."

Apollo grimaced, unable to keep the disgust off his face. "Jolly mentioned that they've been propositioning the warriors."

"Can you blame them when it has been their practice to barter sex for survival for so long?" Cassie asked bluntly. She gripped his arm. "These are desperate people, Captain. It wasn't so long ago that I was among people almost as desperate." Thoughts of a mob of hurt, starving, grieving, scared and resentful people, crammed aboard a stinking old freighter, whose sole purpose in the universe seemed to be tormenting her once they had found out she was a socialator . . . "Thankfully, _I _didn't have innocent children to care for and protect."

Apollo nodded, grateful that Serina and Boxey had fared better in their initial placement. He rose his eyebrows sardonically as he silently thanked the Lord that celebrity was revered. "How are they now that they're away from the pirates?"

"Guardedly optimistic. But, all the same, I get the sense that they're waiting for the cubit to drop." She shrugged. "I've tried to tell them that women and children are treated with respect and special care in our society, but trying to convince those who have been physically and mentally maltreated most of their lives is next to impossible. Some of them show signs of psychological instability, Apollo. They need to see it with their own eyes, before they can even begin to believe it. Maybe then their own behavior will change," she mused.

"Where would you recommend we place them until we know what we're going to do with them?"

"After quarantine? The Orphan's ship. Being around other children would be good for the little ones and the environment would feel safe for the women. There are a lot of wonderful role models over there, some of them parents who lost their own families in the Destruction. I know a few personally."

"I'll make sure your recommendation gets passed on to the Commander and the Council of Twelve, though I have to admit I feel a bit like we're leading a hungry lupus to an unsuspecting ovine."

"The Council will probably agree with you." Cassie's lips tightened. "What do you think will become of them?"

"Ultimately? I don't know. There's too much that we don't know about them to hazard a guess right now. We need to find out where they're from, how they got here, and if they even _want_ to return. I suppose it's likely that some of them were born here."

"The children are so malnourished, I don't see how they could survive to maturity living in these conditions all their lives." She shook her head sadly. "Infant and child mortality is probably very common."

"I wonder if it was always like that? Or if their society has somehow deteriorated?" Sheba's tale of the father and son pilots came to mind, much like Skeff, Ciaren and their children. A hint of something more humane poking out in an otherwise apparently brutal and barbaric society, like a tiny flower amidst the scorched ruins.

"I wonder if we'll ever find out." Cassie returned, looking over the captain's shoulder to see Jolly arriving at the shuttle with a couple cases of liquid nutrients. "I have to go. We should be ready to leave in about thirty centons."

"Cassie," Apollo stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, "I should have asked earlier . . . how's Luana?"

Cassie dropped her eyes, regaining her composure in an instant.

"I'm sorry, I know it's hard . . ."

"No." She looked up at him. "That's okay. You're her commanding officer, and a friend. I understand." She nodded reassuringly as she drew in a deep breath and proceeded to tell him the details.

----------

It _had_ to be a frackin' nightmare. Just had to be.

There could be no other explanation for him busting his astrum to get back to the _Galactica_'s Life Station, taking risks that even _he_ would consider a bit drastic if he was actually looking at it objectively, only to be told when he was three fracking metrons away from Luana that he couldn't get any closer.

"What?"

Empty words simply echoed around inside his skull as he looked up at the brawny med tech that had positioned himself like a prison wall between Starbuck and Luana, when the lieutenant had instinctively vaulted off the hover-stretcher and headed for the young, insensate woman.

He was only afforded a brief glimpse of her pale, bruised face and neck, her mouth slightly open and a tube penetrating her throat, breathing life into her, before Hinnus grabbed him by the shoulders and stopped him in his tracks.

"You can't be serious." Starbuck shook his head despondently, trying again to sidestep Hinnus.

"You're on isolation, Lieutenant." The med tech gave him a sharp shake. "Until we can run a complete series of scans to eliminate any possibility of bacterial, viral, or parasitic infection or infestation, you have to remain quarantined. Right now, the lab is running your blood, and . . ."

"What the _frack_ did I just go through decon for?" Starbuck snapped through bared teeth, his hands curling into fists at his side as he lurched back from Hinnus' grip, his hand reflexively covering his abdomen as it pulsed with pain.

"Dr. Salik's orders." Hinnus finished, noting the other's guarded motion. It was a wonder the lieutenant was even standing considering his overall condition. At times like these, he was glad they had warriors of Starbuck's fortitude protecting the fleet. Now if only . . .

Starbuck could feel his anger infusing his body, his adrenaline once again racing through his system, and he grabbed the man by the isolation tunic with tightly clenched fists. "Listen, pal, Dr. Salik can take his gollmonging orders . . . "

"Starbuck!" A voice from behind barked sharply at him.

" . . . And shove them up . . . "

"Let him go! Now!"

A movement from Starbuck's peripheral vision caused him to turn his head just in time to see a black blur rushing him. He twisted sharply, shoving the med tech towards the attacking force, but burly arms thrust up between his and then viciously outwards, breaking his grip abruptly before they grasped his wrists like vise grips.

"Listen to me! I don't want to restrain you, but I will if I have to!" Hinnus, the former Prison Barge Med Tech, snarled at him. "I'm trying to protect the girl, and everyone else you could potentially come into contact with. Damn it, Lieutenant, that lady is barely hanging on as it is! If you're carrying something contagious, think about what it could do to Luana in her condition."

It was more effective than a slap upside the head. His anger ebbed in the space of a breath, leaving only embarrassment and shame in its place. "Sorry . . . " he muttered quietly, his gaze once again seeking Luana as the pressure on his wrists lessened, but didn't disappear.

"Damn it, Starbuck. Anyone ever tell you that you need to work on your temper?" Reece snapped at him from behind Hinnus.

"He looks like mong, Reece. Cut him some slack." Willem counseled his partner from the opposite side. He turned back to the uncooperative Viper pilot. "Get back on the stretcher, Lieutenant. Now."

Starbuck had tried to get another glimpse of Luana, only to find himself drawn to familiar grey eyes, framed by the wild, white hair of the Imperial Empyrean Necromancer. He should have known she would be at her goddaughter's side. Just behind her Lia held tightly to her sister's hand, concerned, bright eyes turned in his direction. Ama smiled slightly, heading towards him, and all moved out of her way without a single word or indication that she had wished it.

"Hello, son," Ama reached up and gently caressed his face, grimacing slightly as she assessed the damages and the day's growth of beard. She slowly and purposely embraced him, pulling him close.

He smiled slightly as he felt her stroking his hair as though he was a child. It was like a blanket of security suddenly enveloping him, however irrational that was.

She could feel a shuddering breath escape him. "Welcome home, Starbuck."

"What did I _just_ say?" Hinnus roared, absolutely stunned that after his speech of isolation and contamination that the old crone would purposely walk up to the warrior and _touch_ him. He was sure he detected a triumphant smirk on her withered features. Oh! And that was definitely a wink!

"Well, I guess you will have to isolate me as well." Ama smiled, still holding the warrior close to her heart—as she had since they had met. "I don't require much. I used to live in a cave after all." She lightly kissed Starbuck's head, lending her strength to the depleted young man.

"Ama . . . " Starbuck whispered, pulling back from her.

"Shush, dear heart. Everything will work out." She smiled at him.

"Are you _sure_?"

His eyes seemed to search her soul, looking for the answer to his question. Any answer. The unknown was his enemy. Hope and fear battled within his heart. "You must have faith, Starbuck."

"In what?" he sniffed almost derisively, clearly at the end of his reserves. "I mean, she's . . ."

His gaze dropped from hers, and she remembered that he was a man who had lost his civilization to the ravages of war. If his deity had not intervened before . . .

"Faith. A complete trust or confidence." She smiled at him, squeezing his hand. "Seldom have I met a man who had so much faith . . . in such a nice package." She grinned widely at his slightly pained expression. "Every decision you make, every action that you take, it's based on your undying belief in your abilities, your skill, and your remarkable luck. Throw in your diligent purposefulness, and you are faith personified, my boy."

"What does that have to do with Luana?" he asked, shaking his head in confusion.

"Faith. Sometimes it's difficult to explain why we believe with such conviction in something we cannot see. There's no logical proof, or material evidence, but still we stand strong." She led him gently back towards the stretcher, noting with amusement the three burly men standing aside to leave them more than ample room to pass. Were they more afraid of astral cooties, or the necromancer?

"Now you're talking about God." Starbuck ran a hand back through his matted hair, pausing to shiver in disgust at his filth. "I think ours took a little vacation just before the Destruction. Found a nice little celestial beach somewhere, cracked a cold one, and stretched out on his fold up chair to get away from it all for a while . . . then came back, looked around and said, _where did they go?_ "

She grinned at the image and added, "And why did they leave such a mess?_"_

He puffed in amusement and rolled his eyes. "You're probably right."

"I'm talking about _faith_. It does have more than one definition. I'm suggesting that you take some of that tenacious, unwavering, eternal optimism and willfulness, and direct it towards the spirit of the woman you love."

"The spirit?" He shook his head in impatient frustration. "Ama, I don't have the faintest idea of what you're talking about."

"My people call it praying, Starbuck." Ama whispered, as if the idea might be repugnant to anyone listening. "Pray to your God, the Lords of Kobol, or to Luana herself to wake up and come back to you, but now _is_ the time for prayer. You can't win this battle in a Viper, my dear boy."

Ama could see by the utter look of defeat that washed over him, that this man of action and purpose had been hoping for something else from her. That he was even willing to consider a mystical answer when no other solution was obvious, told her of his degree of desperation. He would have climbed mountains, battled aliens, or sacrificed anything asked of him, if there had been even a chance that at the end of the trial he would have Luana back. Waiting and praying were not the resolution he sought.

Despite the situation, a warmth filled her as she realized his depth of emotion towards her goddaughter. She knew that Luana returned it unequivocally. A love like that just had to flourish.

"Have faith, Starbuck. Have faith."


	60. Chapter 60

Of all the people Dayton had encountered since blasting into space on July 1st, 2010, none had been quite as startling as the woman who accompanied Starbuck into the isolation room along with Hinnus, the med tech. Just beyond the door, the NASA commander could see Colonial Security waiting outside the room. Fully armed.

"Is the honour guard for you, Starbuck, or us?" Dayton asked, resentment coming to the surface that the Colonials felt the need to cover the Earthmen when their medical team came into contact with them. Especially one of Hinnus' size. Hell's bells, the guy looked like he was in training for the Mr. Universe competition!

"Me." Starbuck sighed, shaking his head as the burly med tech pushed the stretcher into place and then began reassessing the lieutenant. "I got a bit out of hand . . ."

"He sometimes does that." Ama agreed ruefully, following the stretcher and looking over the small group of men.

"What happened to Bex and Torg, Starbuck? I didn't see either of them in the hangar." Dayton reflected. One of the many loose ends that weren't as yet tied up to his satisfaction.

"They're both dead," Starbuck returned matter-of-factly. He could see by the look on their faces that they wanted details, but he wasn't in the mood for tales of grand exploits at the moment. "Torg tried to stop me from launching so I turned the Rover's laser on him. Bex made the mistake of thinking he could fly better than I could." He fell silent with a shrug.

Dayton nodded slowly. "This is going to sound weird, but after thirty years of those two, I had always imagined one of _us_ would kill them." He looked to his men, who were nodding in understanding. "I kind of envy you, actually."

"Yeah, well, sorry to steal your thunder." Starbuck replied with a weary shrug. "Maybe we can find another wormhole, go back in time, and try to get it right."

"Uh, I think we can come to terms with it, given time." Ryan assured him, studying the warrior and the strange woman who was watching over him. Starbuck's sudden mood swing was unexpected, considering they were all free now. In fact, from what he had heard so far, Ryan had almost expected that the man would be smuggling in ale and throwing a party at the first opportunity. Actually, the more Ryan thought about it, the sudden personality change had all the indications of his ex-wife's monthly hormonal side trip to Hell. And she had always made sure to pack a complete set of baggage for him and drag him along with her.

"A lady could die of old age before anyone came out with a proper introduction." Ama inserted to draw their attention as they all studied the dispirited warrior curiously.

"Sorry . . . " Dayton replied, concentrating on the wild haired woman who obviously had no dental plan.

Ama shrugged, slowly looking the Earthman up and down . . . and then back up again, before locking her eyes on his. "Don't fash yourself, handsome. Simply correct the situation."

"Uh . . . " Now aladyhadn't looked at him like that since . . . He shook off thoughts of his beloved wife, returning his attention to the woman before him, a vague reference to the 'Wild Woman of Borneo' coming to mind from his past. "Commander Mark Dayton of the United States Space Shuttle _Endeavour_."

"Pleased to meet you, Commander. I'm Ama, daughter of Arion and Annica of the Empyrean Imperial House. I am the Empyrean Necromancer."

"Uh, what_ is _that exactly?" Ryan piped up, seeing the woman's eyebrows arch in inquiry. "Paddy Ryan, Canadian Space Agency."

"A pleasure, Paddy-Ryan." Ama took the hand proffered and squeezed it, grinning as the man simultaneously pumped it up and down. "Well, I dabble here and there. A diversified portfolio, really. Religious leader, bureautician, sorceress, soothsayer, not to mention entrepreneur of fine tobacco and ale."

"Bureautician? What's that?" Baker asked haltingly.

"Don't be daft, Baker. She refinishes bureaus, you dolt." Ryan informed him, feeling like he had just met an oddball character out of _Alice in Wonderland_. Make that _Paddy in Wonderland._

"We really have to set up a languatron for these guys," Dorado murmured aside to Starbuck.

Ryan continued, "Besides, I'm more curious about the ale."

"You would be." Dayton teased his friend. "Religious leader. Sorceress. Soothsayer. You're an intriguing woman, Ama." He glanced at Dorado to see the man screwing up his face in consternation. Apparently, she wasn't one of the usual players in Colonial life . . . which was somehow reassuring.

Ama turned Ryan's hand over, tracing his palm before she looked back up at Dayton. "More than you could possibly imagine, Commander Mark-Dayton." She smiled lecherously at both men in turn.

"Uh . . . " Dayton stammered, hastily sucking a deep breath through his teeth before turning to the others. "Lieutenant Colonel Robert Baker, Mission Specialist James Porter, and I'm not certain if you know Captain Dorado of the _Pegasus_, or not?"

"No, I haven't had the pleasure." Ama smiled, releasing Ryan's hand somewhat reluctantly and nodding towards the newcomers. "Robert-Baker, James-Porter, Dorado." She looked to Starbuck. "They have more titles than the archives."

"_Bob_," said Baker hesitantly. "Just call me _Bob_."

"Ah, yes," replied the woman, her brows furrowing momentarily. "Bahhb."

Porter motioned to himself, "Jimmy."

Ama raised an expressive eyebrow again. "I'm afraid I'm having trouble keeping up."

"Starbuck, Doctor Salik should be out of surgery soon. I'll need to sonic prep you, and then you'll be going in. Get out of your clothes and . . ." Hinnus paused in thought, as his nose wrinkled at the odour coming off the lieutenant. "Do you think you could tolerate a turbo wash before surgery?"

"Tolerate it?" Starbuck asked. "Hades half hectare, Hinnus, I think it's mandatory. I haven't smelled like this since . . . " He looked at Ama meaningfully. " . . . I first tangled with Lu and Lia and their putrid on Empyrean." His jaw clenched as his gaze swung back to the open doorway, the main Life Station and Luana beyond it.

"I can help him." Ama offered, grinning at Starbuck's hasty shake of his head.

"Are you his mother?" Ryan asked, unsure of the relationship between the two.

Ama smiled sweetly, a hand on one hip as she turned to regard the other, "Do I _look_ old enough to be his mother?"

"Uh . . ."

"I don't _need _any help," Starbuck assured them, holding up a hand. "Just do something about this line in my arm, and I can attend to my own personal hygiene."

"That's good, because none of us are keen to wash your back." Dayton smiled.

"Or anything else for that matter." Ryan added. "How much time do we have before his surgery?" he asked Hinnus. "I think we all need to catch up on what happened after we split up. We have a few questions for Starbuck."

"I'm not really sure," the med tech replied, capping the intravenous. "Depends on how long it takes to finish Rooke and Dickins."

"_Finish_ them? I don't like the way he said that." Ryan inserted wryly.

"More importantly, why am I _having_ surgery?" Starbuck asked, his hand resting lightly on his abdomen. It felt much better than when he had arrived on the Galactica. In fact, since he'd had his quick fix in the decon chamber, he thought he had it beat.

"There's some kind of tiny metal fragment in your abdomen that's partially imbedded in your colon, Lieutenant. It didn't seem to be the source of infection, but with peristalsis, it's at a very high risk for perforating your bowel."

"Terrific." Starbuck muttered, then paused to consider what it could mean. Not only would they be able to remove the metal fragment, they could do a complete cellular scan eliminating the need for further quarantine. "Will I be off isolation after surgery?"

"Unless something shows up in the scan." Hinnus replied. "But if the scans continue to come up clear, you should be out of here in fairly short order."

"What about the rest of us?" Dayton asked.

"I really have to check with Dr. Salik or one of the senior med techs. I'm newer here, so I'm not familiar with that specific policy." Hinnus replied.

"_Really_?" Dayton drawled, wondering if their medical isolation would go on indefinitely . . . or if it would just feel that way_. Face it, Dayton, you're just a little sensitive about being locked up after the last thirty years._

"He is actually," Starbuck confirmed. "Ease up, Dayton. It's just procedure. Obviously Dorado never contracted anything from you guys, and vice versa, so you'll be out of here soon enough. I'm sure the Commander is pulling his hair out waiting for the quarantine to end so he can come visit you personally. Our people are going to be very excited to hear that men from Earth are here on the _Galactica_. It's the best thing that happened for the moral of the Fleet since we . . . "

"Since your betrothal was announced." Ama interjected.

"Actually, I was going to say . . ." Starbuck attempted to return.

"You're engaged?" Dorado asked in amazement.

"To an Imperial princess," Ama added.

"_What_?" Dorado laughed, patting him on the back. "Hey, that's great! Always wondered who the girl would be that you were holding out for. She must be pretty damn special."

"Yeah, she is," Starbuck murmured, slipping off the hover-stretcher and moving slowly but surely towards the turbo wash. He let out a deep breath. "She's also in a coma in the other room."

Silence hung heavily in the room as they watched him enter the small facility and close the door quietly, but firmly, shutting them all out.

----------

The last of the asteroid settlers had been shipped off to the _Galactica_. Apollo could feel the mood gradually shift as the "cutthroats and harlots", as Jolly referred to them, left the pirate base. The teams shifted into high gear, as they went about their assigned duties.

"Captain Apollo," Tuija approached him. "I've done a preliminary analysis of this koivee root that seems to be the main food source here . . . other than the odd rodent or lizard, according to a couple of the locals I spoke with."

"And?" Apollo asked, pleased to see that the spunky and powerfully built botanist, who had been so helpful when Starbuck had gone missing on the planet Empyrean, was a part of the agro team.

"It's loaded with nutrition. In fact, I've never seen a plant with this kind of nutrient density. Not only is it high in carbohydrates, but it appears that it might have anti-microbial and anti-viral qualities as well. It's reacting very similarly to the Purple Panthelon on analysis. Oh, and that's not all; if the growing conditions here are any indication, it would take little in the way of resources to get a high yield crop. Down in the deeper caves it's pretty cold and inhospitable. Closer to the settlement, it's warmer and more humid. Seems the stuff grows like mad in any conditions."

"On what?" asked Apollo. "Not much here but rock and . . . oh."

"Yeah," said the other. "But not just the waste. This stuff is growing on rocks down there too. Like lichens and mosses back home in the Colonies. We could do something with this on the Agro Ship, Captain."

"Sounds promising." Apollo nodded, as he rubbed at the irritated skin at the nape of his neck. The itching had progressively worsened as the mission continued and he had a strong urge to shave his head and be done with it. "No wonder these people were able to survive despite the conditions."

"Only one set back." Tuija added apologetically.

"What's that?"

"It tastes like old hiking boots that have fallen in an outhouse, and marinated there for twenty yahrens." She informed him.

Apollo paused to absorb that, "Oh." He was afraid to ask how she had reached that conclusion. "Sounds appealing."

"But, I believe it could make good fodder for the livestock. It would probably lose its pungency if we ensile it."

"Ensile?" Apollo asked, shifting uncomfortably as he became aware for the first time that the itching that had invaded his scalp had shifted downward to his . . . well . . . suffice it to say he wasn't going to scratch there with Tuija standing in front of him. "The process of preparing fodder by fermenting and then storing it. The ensiled product retains a great deal of the nutrients present in the plant, much more so than if the crop were dried. We also use more of the plant this way. Little is wasted. I would want to investigate further the apparent anti-microbial properties and how that would effect our livestock first though."

"Naturally. Any pharmaceutical use as far as Humans are concerned?" Apollo asked surreptitiously turning to look at the Earth shuttle so he could sneak a discrete scratch.

"Possibly. Again, we will do the bulk of the research back in Chief Carmichael's lab. But preliminary results appear encouraging."

"All right. Thanks for the update, Tuija."

"No problem, Captain. We should be done in just another centar or so. Let me know if you need to be us to work in any other capacity. I know the scrap retrieval and mining teams still have a lot of work ahead of them."

"They'll appreciate the offer." Apollo smiled at the tireless woman. "Anything to get off of this hunk of rock as soon as possible."

"Uh, Captain . . ." Tuija regarded him curiously, dropping her voice a bit, "I couldn't help but notice you seem to have been afflicted by the same parasite that a lot of the women and children carried."

"Well, yeah . . . I . . . uh . . ." he squirmed in embarrassment. It was bad enough to be experiencing the parasitic infestation, but to have it observed and commented on by this woman . . . _any_ woman . . .

"I believe I've found a deterrent to the pest." Tuija informed him.

"You have?"

"Yes, I think so. Mind you, there is some risk in that we haven't exactly analyzed the remedy, so I'm not entirely sure it's without its own risks . . . though I suspect those would be more long term related and likely not applicable to a dose or two."

"A dose of what?" Apollo asked.

"The local hooch." Tuija replied with a tentative smile. "Seems that the pirates drank it exclusively, not sharing it with the women or children, thank the Lords of Kobol for that small measure of common sense. You can imagine the state the wee ones would be in otherwise. Now, I understand that the prisoners also had their own supply in the tunnels. Both concoctions were fermented koivee based."

"Uh . . . have you tested your theory?"

Tuija screwed up her slightly flushed face guiltily before admitting, "I couldn't stand it anymore, Captain. I was ready to jump out an airlock. Either that or tear my hair out from head to toe and rub myself down with a bristly brush. Believe me, that's a sight no one wants to see. Besides, one _does_ have to test one's theories."

Apollo couldn't help the smirk that spread across his features at first the image she described, and then her rational explanation for imbibing on a mission. Her chagrined wince as she awaited his response only made it more absurd, and a chuckle involuntarily escaped him, especially when he recalled he was recently considering shaving his head.

"I understand that in ancient times, it was customary to issue a jigger of intoxicant to servicemen on a daily basis." Tuija mentioned.

"That's true. I didn't realize you studied military history as well as botany."

"Only the more entertaining aspects of it," she replied with a wan smile before shrugging. "Both my parents were teachers."

"Ah, I see. And one dose cured your . . . infestation?" Apollo asked.

"Well, _my_ dose may have been a little larger than the Colonial Service's standard measure, but essentially, yes. One dose will do you."

"Well, then, start passing it out to those afflicted. And Tuija?"

"Oh, I'll make sure it doesn't get out of hand, Captain." She raised a hand hastily in assurance.

"No, no. I just wanted to let you know, if I'm not in the hangar, I'll be in the control room in the tunnel."

"Understood," she grinned as she turned to go.

"Captain!"

Apollo turned in the direction of the technician approaching him. He saluted, and handed Apollo a data pad. Apollo perused it.

"We're certain we can tow the Earth shuttle out of here intact." Rimas told him. "I suppose her age protected her integrity. They ripped her apart, but a lot of her innards are scattered around indiscriminately, mostly discarded or forgotten. Most of them wouldn't be compatible with anything else, after all. At least that was what one of the pirates claimed."

"How can you even tell what belongs to her?" Apollo asked curiously.

"At this point, if we don't recognize it, we're assuming it's hers." Rimas grinned wryly. "These, for example." He held up a thin silver disc about the width of a splayed hand.

Apollo took it from the other, watching the light reflect off the almost mirror-like surface, creating a prism of colours reminiscent of the lighting in that trendy dance club on the Rising Star. He turned it over to reveal a slightly less reflective surface with hand written characters on it. He glanced again at the white shuttle, trying to compare the script without any obvious success. "Any idea what it is?"

"Well, I suspect it's for recording data of some sort. Our ancestors used something similar centi-yahrens ago, shortly after computrons were invented. There are quite a few. Admittedly, some look like they were used to play hover-catch with."

"It could just as easily come from another civilization, as Earth's." Apollo suggested, handing it back.

"True enough, _but . . . _" he paused dramatically, "there's a data drive on the Earth shuttle that fits it." Rimas smiled at growing excitement on the captain's face. "Of course, it's in about twelve different pieces, and I'm not sure all of them are there." He shrugged. "Hopefully, the Earth men will be able to help us with the reassembly." He paused, looking over to the _Endeavour_ once again before asking tentatively, "Do you really think she's _from_ Earth, Captain?"

Apollo smiled slightly, nodding at the tech. "Yes, I do."

"So we might be close?"

"That remains to be seen. We don't know the whole story yet. For now, this is all classified information. We don't want people getting excited about Earth being around the next corner, if it isn't."

"Understood, Sir. It's just . . . we've all been feeling like a caravan of tinkers, not really sure where we're going, or even if we're going to eventually get there. It's just nice to know Earth is really out there, and not just a legend in the Book of the Word."

"There has been some correlating evidence we've come across on our journey to substantiate that legend."

"Begging your pardon, Sir, but most of us 'little people' want something a bit more conclusive than some announcement from the Council of Twelve about some log book that we'll never see and couldn't read even if we did, found on some planet that none of us were ever on."

Apollo nodded, recalling the excitement that the book—depicting the story of Prodo, and his ship, the Empurios, when what had remained of the Empyrean people left the thirteenth tribe to settle on the planet Alrin millennia ago—had stirred. Of course, there was also Count Iblis' words about Earth, some of them recounted to him by the Commander, not to mention John, and the Ship of Lights. However, they would be considered to be simply more hearsay to people like Rimas. Sagan sakes, even he and Starbuck had had differing opinions of what those beings were, and ultimately what they could mean to the Fleet. At least the two friends had agreed that they seemed trustworthy and benevolent above all else.

"When will you be ready, Rimas?" Apollo asked.

"Within the centar. We need to finish sealing her up and making sure she holds together for the trip."

All right, good work." Apollo restrained himself from patting the man on the shoulder as he turned for the tunnels, again getting in a surreptitious scratch and wondering how long it would be until he got a dose of the local hooch.

Boomer had already laid the ground work for blowing the pirates' base. He had planted and activated a homing device deep in the mine, which would guide one of the _Galactica_'s missiles through the asteroid field to its target. Now the lieutenant was delving into how to destroy the Dynamos from the control room, minus one for Dr. Wilker to analyze. Unfortunately, someone had thoroughly torn the place apart as part of the escape plan.

Apollo headed in that direction, optimistic that the team of techs along with his resourceful friend, had come up with a plan that would eliminate the need for them to track the spheroids down one by one via Viper to ultimately destroy them. He checked his chrono, sparing a thought for his friend back on the Galactica and wondering how Starbuck had fared following his evident collapse while piloting his Viper. Likely, by now the wayward lieutenant would have been reunited with Luana in the Life Station. He hoped to God they were both all right.

And he hoped to God that Tuija would be along soon with his dose of parasite repellent.

----------

That all too familiar sound of the medical monitoring equipment tugged Starbuck out of anaesthesia to blink at the blurry face of Dr. Paye peering down at him.

"Everything's fine, Starbuck. We removed the metal fragment without any complications." Paye told him, thankful that they had the intraoperative treatments available in the Life Station that could accelerate the healing process, thereby permitting him to laser seal the wound, instead of awaiting the tedious process of allowing the body to recover at its own somewhat slower rate and inserting a wound drain in the meantime. "I've also repaired the fractures above and below your right eye. They were hairline, so there was no serious damage. The swelling will still take a while to come down so we'll keep your head elevated in the meantime."

Above the visibly weary physician, the ceiling was passing by in a blur and Starbuck could feel the hover-stretcher moving beneath him. He was in transition apparently, the last thing he remembered was having a conversation in the operating room with Dr. Paye that was becoming increasingly difficult to follow subsequent to being hustled there after the most necessary turbo wash in the history of Mankind.

"Your tests came back negative from an infection control point of view," Paye continued, as he glanced ahead. "You're off isolation as of now, so we'll move you into the main ward of the Life Station."

"Near Luana." Starbuck muttered, touching his face and feeling the gooey residue of some kind of ointment on his excoriated skin.

"Right," he snorted. "You think I'm going to place you two side by side and watch your blood pressure go screaming out of a launch tube? Or mine?" Paye grimaced. "I could just see it, you'd have the place in a constant uproar until Salik or I evicted you, like the last time . . . " he muttered more to himself than the lieutenant. "Or was that the time before? You're here so often, I'm getting you confused with the fixtures."

"Doc . . . "

Paye stopped the hover-stretcher looking back down at the warrior. "Then again, if I don't put you near her, you'll spend the next two centars planning a covert penetration operation of skullduggery and stealth, trying to make it across the Life Station unobserved, in the meantime pulling out every tube we inserted and making a general nuisance of yourself." He seemed to change his mind, rolling his eyes, and started pushing the hover-stretcher in another direction. "Fine, have it your way."

"Doctor Paye, how _is _Luana?" Starbuck asked the exhausted looking man who had already informed him moodily that he had pulled his first shift on the team that boarded the 'rioting' Malocchio, to then do his regularly scheduled day, to almost immediately be called back to do a postmortem to verify the identity of a charred corpse, only to then rush Lieutenant Rooke of the Pegasus into surgery, most certainly saving his life, and finally to discover that there was another two shuttles full of civilians on their way that would require general assessments, parasitic treatment, isolation precautions, and God knew what else. Meanwhile, he and Salik were being pressured by various annoying Council members to clear the newcomers from isolation so they could commence their 'bureaucratic shenanigans'.

Paye stopped the stretcher again. "Lords, Starbuck, I'm sorry. I didn't tell you."

"What?" his mouth was suddenly dry, but then he saw the physician shake his head in denial even as he started sitting up.

"No, no. Nothing like that. The neural patterns that we were worried about stabilized, so we reduced Ensign Luana's sedation, bringing her slowly out of the coma. She's breathing on her own now. Salik is with her, extubating her."

"Extubating?" He relaxed a bit, feeling Paye's hand push him back down as his hope began to rise.

"Pulling the tube that was breathing for her out of her throat," he explained.

"Is she awake?"

"I don't know. Let's go find out." Paye smiled slightly before beginning to push again. "I remember when we used to have porters that did this felgercarb," he muttered as he collided with the corner of the wall, jostling his patient. "Damn."

Paye pushed the hover-stretcher back to the main ward where a smattering of other patients occupied a few biobeds. A partition surrounded the space that Starbuck remembered Luana occupying. Lia paced there, stopping only when she saw the lieutenant's approach. She walked to the hover-stretcher, assisting the physician to line it up with the biobed nearest to Luana's.

"Scoot over," she told him, then smiled weakly as she saw him tugging on the scanty Life Station gown he was wearing, trying to maintain some modesty. "And mind your skirt."

"Watch your line." Paye added, guiding the intravenous equipment as the warrior slowly moved to the slightly larger biobed.

"How's she doing, Lia?" Starbuck asked, his eyes drawn to the closed partition.

"Breathing on her own, but still unconscious." Lia replied quietly.

Lia looked wiped out. Clearly she had been at her sister's side since Luana had entered the Life Station, but just when that was, Starbuck was uncertain. They still hadn't found her when the rescue mission had launched.

"Come here." Starbuck told her, sitting up and pulling her into a tight hug. She trembled as she clung to him, feeling utterly helpless, but at least not so alone anymore since Ama had been transferred to the Isolation Unit a couple centars before.

"They all thought you were dead," Lia whispered, feeling his deep sigh in reply. "Ama knew though . . . somehow she knew . . . " She held him tightly, savouring the warmth and comfort that only came through the love of family. And even though they weren't related by blood, the Colonial Warrior had been 'family' since saving her life in a raging river on Empyrean, only to have her return the favour shortly thereafter.

"I wish she could be so certain about Lu." Starbuck murmured to the young woman.

"One of the necromancer's abilities is to communicate with the spirits of the dead." Lia sniffed, wiping away a stray tear as she pulled back to look at him with a faint smile. "I guess you didn't show," she explained.

"I hope she wasn't too disappointed." Starbuck returned, his gaze again drawn to the partition as it began to open.

Salik stepped back to reveal the still unconscious Luana, med tech Hinnus on her other side clearing away some medical supplies. Starbuck let out a gasp of surprise at her overall condition. Deep bruising encircled her throat and a red, thin line indicated recent laser healing to the same area. Small bandages encircled her wrists and her body seemed to be a mass of continuous bruising which somehow hadn't quite made the same impact when he had first seen her from metrons away before he was isolated.

"What the frack _happened_ to her?"

Four sets of eyes turned to him in stunned silence, watching as he began to swing his bare legs off the biobed. His body was taut with anger . . . no, _fury_, that someone would . . . _dare . . . _lay a hand on _his . . ._

"Now wait just a centon!" Paye declared, reaching to salvage the intravenous line and hold the infuriated warrior back by his shoulder.

"Lords, are we going to have to call Security _again_!" Hinnus demanded, at Starbuck's side in a few quick steps.

"_Starbuck_! _Stop_! _Now_!" Salik shouted mere centimetrons from his face. He positioned himself up against the man, blocking his attempted escape from his bed, the bulky med tech beside him. "I know you're upset, but if you want to be with her, we'll simply push the beds together. You _don't _need to get out of hand here."

"Just sedate him." Paye suggested from behind.

"Is that what you'd have me do, Lieutenant?" Salik demanded. "Frankly, we don't have time to deal with this right now. Most of my staff are in a landing bay full of people who need to be treated, not to mention that we have two isolated men in critical condition, and Ensign Luana here just off the respirator. Have I made myself clear?" His eyes bored into the other's for a long moment of ear splitting silence.

"Yes, Sir." Starbuck replied slightly more subdued, his body still tense at the shock of seeing . . . _Lords, what were you expecting?_ The truth was, he didn't really know all the details of what had happened to Lu. Boomer had told him that Luana went missing while trying to get to the bottom of the triad scandal, and that Borka had been forced to reveal her whereabouts. Then Athena had revealed her subsequent medical condition, but not how she had sustained her injuries. It was like an old, mystery novel that had crucial parts torn out of it and he was stumbling around in the dark trying to find the missing pages. And, to top it all off, most of the main characters were unavailable for answers; Lu was unconscious, Borka was in the brig and probably not receptive to a tête-à-tête, Boomer was back on the pirate base with the salvage crews, and Oriana . . . Lords, that poor woman was dead. And all because some uptight Councilman had accused him of cheating at triad! How did it all get so out of hand?

The health team stood back, Salik staring him down until Starbuck pulled his legs back onto the biobed, though he remained sitting up. Then, true to his word, the Chief Medical Officer pushed the beds together, lowering obstructing side rails before turning to the warrior once again.

"Starbuck, I'd like to have the luxury of going over all this with you in detail, but there just isn't the time right now. I'm giving you the straight facts, because that's what I believe you want to hear. Am I right?"

Starbuck nodded briskly.

"I thought as much." Salik nodded. "Physically, she's doing well. All that remains to be seen is how extensive the brain damage was due to the lack of oxygen. Now we're experimenting with neural stimulation treatments, an evolving therapy that was breaking ground just before the Destruction. Both Paye and I read some optimistic reports on evaluative test cases that responded favourably to frequent, intermittent therapeutic sessions immediately following injury. Having said all that, we've consulted with Dr. Jocquin on the Rising Star who followed the studies much more closely as a resident specializing in Neurology. Even with what we all believe is the best course of action, we really aren't going to know how much this has effected her until Ensign Luana wakes up. There is definite damage visible on her scans, both to the left temporal as well as parietal lobes, but how that will convert to alteration of function and cognitive capacity, we won't know until she wakes up." He let out a sigh. "And that's_ if _she wakes up. There is a slight chance that she won't."

Somewhere during the explanation, Starbuck had switched his gaze to Luana. He shook his head in denial that the beautiful woman before him, who appeared to simply be in a deep sleep, might not awaken. Or even worse, might end up in some kind of vegetative state. _C'mon, Bucko. You're supposed to be an optimist._ But fear had a way of twisting around optimism like a bone crushing serpent, until it was mangled beyond all recognition.

"Now, having said all that, if . . . or rather _when_ she wakes up, she's going to need all the support she can get. If you think this is hard on you, imagine how much harder it will be on a young woman in the prime of her life to be facing potential extensive rehab as a _best_ case scenario . . . " The CMO trailed off wearily before letting out a disheartened breath.

Starbuck tore his gaze from Luana. "Wait a centon. Athena said she _might_ be fine. What do you mean by 'a best case scenario'?"

Salik's lips tightened, and he shook his head slightly, as if in regret. "Dr. Jocquin has been helping us out with the rest of our workload, and only_ just_ had the opportunity to sit down and evaluate the final results of the latest modified scan. There is conclusive damage, but she's still optimistic that the neural stimulation treatments will help."

"Frack . . . " How it could be going from bad to worse, he wasn't sure . . .

"Basically, you're saying we still have to wait until she wakes up to find out for sure how extensive her brain damage is." Lia summarized, holding her chin up and blinking back tears simultaneously. She reached for Starbuck's hand, noting his white knuckles and he gripped the rail on the biobed. "But, regardless, she's not going to be . . . herself."

"Basically." Salik nodded, looking at his chrono and then to Paye. "Life Station or Landing Bay?"

Paye rolled his eyes, obviously not keen on either choice. "I'll take the Life Station. Med tech Waheeb has whipped that store room down the hall into shape for a temporary secondary Isolation Unit. It's not ideal, but it's better than contaminating our main facility. We've also modified three of the decon chambers, so we can begin the de-lousing before the incomers even leave Beta Bay. Waheeb is standing by there."

"All right." He sighed. "We're doing the best we can with what we've got." Salik reminded his peer.

"Still, it's not ideal."

"Hasn't been for some time, Paye." Salik looked back to Starbuck and Lia before turning to go. The young ensign had again embraced the lieutenant and was clinging to his side, looking up at him in concern. It almost appeared that she was trying to comfort _him_. For his part, his hand was covering his face, his head bowed, his thoughts and feelings hidden from them. "Get some rest, Lieutenant. That's an order."

A faint nod was the extent of his response.


	61. Chapter 61

It burned all the way down to his stomach, and then back up again. Lords, if there was ever a time that the cure was worse than the affliction, this was a prime example. A harsh slap on his back only made it worse as Apollo tried to cough up all ten toes, plus several internal organs, bent over with tears flowing down his cheeks.

"Don't fear, Captain. It'll pass in a few microns." Tuija assured him with a grin. By now she had seen the same reaction, admittedly in varying degrees, about thirty times over.

Boomer peered at the contents of the well used shot glass that Tuija was handing around to them. He raised an eyebrow, wondering if the captain would recover, or if this was the end of a brilliant career and friendship. He decided to await the outcome before downing his own dose.

Technician Volk was similarly paused in front of the dismantled control room console watching the end result and weighing the advantages and disadvantages of consuming Asteroid Whiskey.

"Frack . . . " Apollo gasped, wiping the tears from his eyes as he straightened up. He blinked at the ground, almost expecting to see innumerable parasites dropping dead at his feet, hacking out their last gasps, as they let go their vicious hold on him and fell to the ground. Alas, it was not to be. Then again, he was still having trouble focusing. Actually, his eyesight might never be the same, now that he thought about it. "What is that?" he sputtered. "Igniter fluid?"

"Probably would be very effective as igniter fluid, now that you mention it." Tuija smiled. "Either that or a good engine flush for your Vipers." She looked pointedly at Boomer. "Well, Lieutenant?"

"Did you _really_ drink this?" Boomer asked, turning the grimy shot glass towards the light and gazing into the seemingly innocuous golden depths within.

"Yes. And believe me, I've had worse."

"I'll challenge that!" wheezed Apollo.

Boomer let out a sigh, then sucked in a deep breath and downed the foul liquor. He blew out a forceful breath and blinked his eyes as the local hooch lit a fire down to his guts. _All_ the way down. He gratefully accepted the canteen of water that Technician Volk handed him, gulping it down as a chaser. He smiled at Apollo's look of indignation. "It's all in the technique."

"You couldn't have shared the details of your 'technique' with me before my gastrointestinal system started sloughing from the inside?" The captain asked.

"I wanted to make sure it didn't kill you before I even considered that there might be a particular methodology for drinking it." Boomer grinned, turning back to the console. "Now, getting back to business," he sighed loudly, letting out a toxic breath, "we've been able to reestablish the power link to the Dynamos." He pointed to the screen above them which pinpointed the coordinates of each spheroid with a blinking blue dot. "Ultimately, we're thinking that if we can activate and deactivate them from here, then we should be able to over-energize them and blow them up simultaneously without chasing each of them down by fighter."

"The energized particles would expand the mass beyond the limits of the casing." The captain mused.

"Exactly. Like any component when you pump too much power through it, sirs. At least that's the theory." Volk added. "We're still tweaking the system to try and control the amount of energy the Dynamos release. It seems to be at a set rate which is locked into the control system."

"Any particular reason for that?" Apollo asked.

"Uh . . . I actually hadn't given it any thought. I suppose I assumed it was just convenient for the pirates to set these things on automatic and let them take care of themselves." Volk replied, a little chagrined. "These guys weren't exactly big on maintenance, as we've seen."

"What are you thinking, Apollo?" Boomer asked.

"Well, for such a small weapon, the amount of energy it released was astounding. I'm actually wondering if there's any danger to those of us here on the base if we take the power level up to a critical value to blow them all at once." He moved behind Volk, looking at the screen. "Or would all the rock protect us?"

"Hmm. Interesting. With that in mind, I wonder if it would be plausible to theorize that we don't need to blow the base at all using one of the Galactica's missiles." Volk inserted, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

"Well, considering our ongoing problem with limited resources, especially with weapons production, it would be worth pursuing." Apollo added. "Could we set it up to discharge from the Galactica? Blow the Dynamos, the explosion encompassing the pirate base, and all of us safely out of here?"

"I believe so, Captain." Volk agreed, again looking over the antiquated, oft tribunal rigged console. "It's going to take some time."

"How much time?"

"Well, besides being barely a notch above flint spears, this operating system is still in pieces. Lieutenant Starbuck and the others did a masterful job of trashing it. I need to finish putting the pieces back together, then try and update it, and fine tune the controls so we can alter the energy patterns . . . "

"Volk, it's going to be at least another six centars before the mining and salvage crews are ready to pull out." Apollo interrupted the man's contemplations.

"We can be ready in six centars." Volk nodded, taking the shot glass of Asteroid Whiskey that Tuija handed him. "At least if this doesn't incapacitate me, we can."

"In the meantime, we'll see if we can get some answers from some of the pirates as to the specifics of the potential magnitude of the explosion." Apollo added with a wry grin.

"They might not be too cooperative once they find themselves in our brig." Boomer suggested. He smiled slightly as he considered the situation. "Then again, maybe Reece can convince them to tell us what we want to know." Though the incident with Borka and the simian suits had left a bad taste in his mouth, just a fleeting memory of Starbuck when he had first stepped out of the archaic fighter looking like several depths of Hades Hole, and then the condition of the other prisoners, not to mention the women and children, somehow eased his conscience at the thought of Reece and Willem persuading the pirates with a similar technique.

"Perhaps Commander Dayton would be more accommodating." Apollo proposed with a curious look at the lieutenant. He had never thought he would see the day when one of his men would suggest that the Black Shirts might be helpful. "After all those yahrens of imprisonment, he might be familiar with the technology."

"True. Possibly." Boomer shrugged. "Probably worth exploring both sources."

"Yeah, of course. I'll contact the Galactica. I'm sure the Commander would be more than eager to talk to Dayton about it. As to the pirates, well I think that someone like Skeff might be more forthcoming about the information we need, especially if we dangle a reunion with his family in front of him." Apollo mused, not liking the tactics, but realizing they needed the critical information. After all, the pirates had used Skeff's family against him.

Boomer sighed, "I'm beginning to feel like we're sinking down to the pirates' level of conduct."

Apollo clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder. "After a millennium of fighting Cylons, it's a bit of a wake up call to find yourself facing other humans as the enemy, even considering Baltar and the Eastern Alliance. The worst thing is, I'm just not sure about where Dayton and his men fit in."

"You mean friend or foe?" Boomer asked.

"Exactly."

"FRACK!" said Volk at the console. Both senior warriors turned to him. "This pile of junk!" he exclaimed. "If it isn't compatible with half the parts we have available, it keeps giving me fits on the main power readings. How can I possibly set up . . ."

"Power?" asked Apollo. "You mean the mains?"

"Yes. The whole base is pulling power from the main reactor," he pointed to the indicators on the console before him, "but the busses and breakers are threatening to either kick out, or overload! Keeping the power stabilized long enough to set up the Dynamos is like trying to get a daggit to sit still for a veterinary exam!"

"Maybe_ that's _why the Dynamos have a preset energy emission level locked into the system. A fluctuating power source." Apollo mused. "This is looking better and better."

"Apollo!" said Boomer, looking up from the console to his CO. "Are you thinking . . .?"

"Uh huh. We definitely don't need a missile. Volk, can you access the reactor from here?"

"Boomer, do you know where the reactor is, exactly?"

"Oh yeah."

"Then come on. Let's have a look."

----------

_You can't do this. You're really not up for it._

It was too much to expect. That he would be at her side throughout a prolonged rehabilitative period that might only result in her partial recovery. Hades, they hadn't even said 'the words' really. Everyone realized the betrothal was a charade. And, even if maybe _everybody_ didn't, well, the people closest to them _did_.

_What about Lu? She'd do it for you, Bucko._

Sagan. He'd never met anyone as faithful, reliable or determined as Luana. There was nothing too big to overcome in her somewhat naïve eyes. After all, wasn't that why she had tried to prove his innocence when he'd been too busy between Empyrean conflicts and duty to defend his own reputation?

He let out a deep breath as he rolled onto his side, gazing across the connected biobeds at her. Part of him wanted to gather her up in his arms and hold her closely to him, whispering words of encouragement, and begging her to wake up so they could escape this nightmare and move forward.

The rest of him was terrified to even touch her. She almost didn't _look_ like Luana anymore, tubes attached to her in places that he didn't want to even think about. The dim lighting of the quiet Life Station cast shadows that made her look deathly pale, at least where she wasn't black and blue. So fragile, that if he touched her, she might break.

_Or you might. _

Ah, that was it really. He was holding it all together by a thread. Just barely. Balanced on a precipice between making that mental leap that meant really committing to Luana, or falling back on his comfortable and proven life strategy of finding an 'out'.

_But how could he . . .?_

Ama, Lia and Luana had become an extension of his ever growing, unofficial family. The problem was, while it was nice having them there for you when you needed them, he wasn't as good at the reciprocal part of the arrangement. At least not on_ this _kind ofscale. He could admit—to himself anyway—that he was more the white knight kind of guy who would leap into action to defend truth, honour and the Colonial way of life. Stealth missions aboard Cylon Base Ships, Viper attacks, ground assault missions in unfamiliar territory; truth be known, he ate it all up with more appetite than he had for his primaries.

_But this . . . _

This required the kind of patience and fortitude that was more closely associated with someone of Apollo's nature . . . or Lia's. A long term struggle where each passing secton might only reveal a hint of progress in the overall picture. The campaign would be hard fought and the rewards but a tiny step forward while slogging across an endless battlefield. It all seemed so . . . insurmountable.

Suddenly a sound escaped Luana's lips. Something between a sigh and a murmur. It startled him. But it was all the motivation that it took for him to scramble across the space that the moment before had seemed like a vast distance between them. He leaned over her, his hand pausing for a micron before he caressed her cheek ever so gently.

"Lu?"

Her head tilted slightly, pressing against his touch. Another faint sigh.

"C'mon, sweetheart. Wake up." Tears flooded his eyes and he drew in what was _supposed_ to be a deep, steadying breath. "Please . . ."

She sighed again, her entire body this time turning slightly towards him, seeking his presence.

Tears spilled down his face and a sob escaped him as he pulled her close. He closed his eyes tightly, cradling her against him, silently offering his strength, his love and anything else necessary to bring her back to him.

----------

Dayton's eyes were glued to the screen, his head slowly shaking in a mixture of morbid fascination and horror at the events unwinding before him as he watched the rather dry collection of data outlining the events of the Destruction of the Twelve Colonies of Man. Ryan sat beside him, sucking back a nutrient drink, flavoured with something that if it wasn't strawberry sure as hell tasted like it, also spell bound by the information before him as they scrolled through the archives that the Colonials had made available and Dorado had showed them how to access.

"Amazing any of them got away. This Commander Adama must be one hell of a man." Ryan mused as he listened to the data about the Cylon Empire.

"He was duped like the rest of them though." Dayton switched to English, speaking quietly, glancing over his shoulder briefly at Dorado and Ama playing a strange card game across the room. "It merely sounds like he was somewhat more cautious about the Armistice, and more prepared for the likelihood of something going wrong."

"Damn good thing too." Ryan replied, automatically falling back on his native tongue. "Otherwise we'd still be rotting on that hunk of rock."

"I wonder . . . "

Ryan looked at his friend. "What?"

"Do you think it's a good thing that these people are looking for Earth?" Dayton asked, his eyes not leaving the screen, now filled with scenes of Colonial cities being leveled by wave after wave of Cylon war machines. He was reminded of old pictures he had seen in school of London, Brussels, or Rotterdam being leveled by the Nazi Luftwaffe, or more somewhat recent scenes of death from the Middle East.

"Doesn't much matter what _I_ think, they _are_ looking for Earth. Not a whole lot a guy from Carrot Creek, Alberta can do about that." Ryan smiled ruefully.

"Hmm."

"What's going through that demented mind of yours, Mark?" Ryan asked, his eyes narrowing as he handed the NASA commander the container of nutrient he had largely ignored.

It wasn't often Ryan called him by his Christian name. It usually meant his trademark jocularity was being temporarily curbed for a serious discussion. "I think we should try to stop that from happening, Paddy." His voice was almost a whisper as he accepted the drink, only to set it down again where he had previously placed it.

"Look, according to what Starbuck said back on the asteroid, their route was given to them by some strange beings that are some kind of cross between angels and advanced life forms." Ryan's tone indicated that the chance that these people would find Earth was rather remote at best in his opinion.

"Still, they're obviously on the right track if what Ama told us is true. Her people set out for Earth millennia ago on this same star path from that planet Kobol that they're supposed to have come from originally. That's when they stopped their journey and decided to settle on Empyrean." Dayton pointed out.

"Well, how do we know if the others made it to Earth? Maybe they perished on the way. Maybe they never found it. After all, there was no one back home thousands of years ago zipping around in spaceships." Ryan reasoned, chuckling and then adding as an afterthought, "Unless Erich von Däniken was right about his 'ancient astronauts'." He grinned at Dayton's answering snort of derision, knowing full well how the son of a renowned Egyptologist felt about the speculative notion that aliens were responsible for the most ancient civilizations on Earth. "And besides, if angels are guiding them on their way, who are you to try and stop them? Doesn't that go against your usual doctrine?" 

"Dayton! Ryan! Baker!" Porter called out to them from his biobed, from where he was also flicking through the archives, but effectively getting very little out of it until then since his grasp of their language was minimal. Only now he was bouncing up and down on the biobed like the New York Stock Exchange.

"What?" asked Dayton, again handed the drink by Ryan, and eyeing it suspiciously. He looked back to Porter. "You okay?"

"Look! You guys gotta see this!"

The men joined him and one by one fell silent. The silence was followed by gasping when they saw the images of the pyramids before them. Dayton grabbed the controller, turning up the volume, and time seemed to reverse as he was drawn back to his early years when his father taught Egyptology at the University of Chicago for the department of Near Eastern Languages and Civilization.

"What the hell?" Dayton murmured as he gazed at the structures that appeared almost identical to the Great Pyramids of Egypt. Three massive structures in a row, the third smaller than the other two. "Just like the pyramids of Khufu, Khafre, and Menkaura. That's impossible . . ."

"That ain't Giza, my friend." Ryan commented.

"Don't I know it." Dayton muttered, completely mystified by how he could be looking at an ancient civilization unknown light years away from Earth, that had the same monuments . . . the same desert setting . . .

_Hieroglyphics?_

He must have been in Egypt almost yearly from the time he was old enough to walk up until he was _mature_ enough to consider the ancient ruins boring, preferring to spend his time cruising with his friends in his beat up old Mustang, hanging out at Charlie's, or the beach. But the ancient Egyptian civilization was _five thousand _years old . . .

"What is it? What's wrong?" Dorado asked from behind the absorbed men. He had to tap one on the shoulder when he received no answer.

"What is this place?" Dayton demanded, pausing to repeat his question in Standard after receiving a blank look from the Colonial Warrior.

"Kobol." Dorado informed him, looking over the data display. Ancient records described the civilization in detail and it was taught to school children throughout the Twelve Worlds. "The mother world of humanity." His voice sounded almost rapturous.

Dayton looked up. "When were the . . ." he motioned towards the screen, not knowing the Colonial Standard word for 'pyramids'. Oddly enough, it hadn't come up before. "These structures. When were they built?"

Dayton sniffed, "Lords, you're stretching my school boy memory. Hades, it was millennia ago. I'm not even sure when exactly.

"About eighty-five hundred yahrens ago." Ama piped up from across the room as she watched them curiously. "Approximately, that is. No one really knows for certain anymore."

"But that's impossible!" Dayton murmured again, shaking his head. "No way!"

"What does it all mean?" Ryan asked him, recalling his von Dänikencrack of a few moments before . . .

"I don't know," Dayton replied, feeling inexplicably shaken at this unpredictable link with these people that his consciousness was rejecting with every single neuron. It made what he needed to do, even more difficult.


	62. Chapter 62

Adama replayed the recording once again, his eyes closed, his attention focused on the auditory component of the transmission before him as he sat in his quarters. It had been over four sectars since Apollo had brought it to him, that sparkle in his eyes and spring in his step that conveyed the triumph his son was feeling. Since then there had been no further signals of any interest.

Though they had lost the first recording that Apollo had intercepted in the Celestial Dome when Dr. Wilker's lab was destroyed, his son had not relented in his drive to prove that the unidentified signal was more than just a Cylon lure or trap. With Boomer's help, he had set up a monitoring and recording system which he tirelessly reviewed every secton, awaiting another transmission which in his heart Apollo felt was surely from Earth.

Adama smiled, reflecting it was a rare occasion when Apollo's instinct and faith in their ultimate goal of finding Earth may have actually exceeded his father's.

The image before him was of the strange and archaic looking spaceship or base—he wasn't exactly certain which because of all the interference which the best image enhancement had not been able to clear up—with the unintelligible ramblings of the unseen beings in the background, followed by a startling explosion and then nothing but static. There was still nothing conclusive to suggest it was from Earth, and could just as likely be a trick, or a clever ruse by the Cylons that he hadn't figured out as yet. However, as always, he was conscious of the fact and relentlessly on guard. After all, he reminded Apollo, while the Cylons were not exactly the brightest diodes in the emitter array intellectually, no doubt they had learned a few tricks from Baltar. And Baltar had known about the legends regarding Earth. Perhaps he had shared that information with his second in command before turning himself into his brethren, supposedly under Count Iblis' influence . . . _Lords, it seemed so long ago now . . ._ He turned his attention back to the recording.

Having seen it repeatedly, something haunted his mind as a combination of sounds which he had never before assimilated, but suddenly seemed poignant, tugged at his memory. If only they had had the time to modulate the languatron since meeting the men who claimed to come from Earth. Adama had tried once before having the languatron translate the dialogue, but whether it was the quality of the reception or simply that the alien language was beyond their technological capability, it had failed utterly.

. . . _Dayton_ . . .

His eyes snapped open. His heart felt as though it had suddenly leapt into his throat, and he realized that for all his caution, based on yahrens of bitter, dearly-bought experience, that Apollo could be right.

_" . . . is . . . ander Dayton. C'mon, you loafers . . .wake up and . . ."_

He wound it back and listened again. Then again. Not only could this recording be from Earth, but that the very man he was listening to—albeit, not understanding—could be waiting in the Life Station to be escorted to their imminent meeting, now that Dr. Paye had finally cleared them from quarantine. The man whose voice he had heard over the telecom already.

But how could a man who had been imprisoned on a pirate base for thirty yahrens, according to Apollo's preliminary report, be the same man from this transmission? It was a lure of another kind. A temptation, drawing him closer to Earth, and giving him further fortitude and resilience to stay the path. One more substantial piece of evidence that he could show to his people and the Council, giving them the hope and the faith that their long journey was not in vain. Somehow, though it didn't make much sense, he just_ knew_ that this man was the same.

"Life Center? Commander Adama here."

"Yes, Commander?" came Cassie's smooth voice.

"I am ready to receive the newcomers. Please have them brought to my quarters at once."

"Right away, Commander," she replied. Adama clicked off, and after listening to the recording once more, rose and went to his window, gazing out at the innumerable stars. Silently, he prayed for wisdom.

Not for the first time he believed that it was divine intervention that was truly guiding them on their journey. It was the only plausible explanation and it gave him the necessary strength to continue despite the continuing doubts and challenges that made him feel old beyond his yahrens, especially in the loneliness of leadership.

----------

Her limbs felt leaden, and her head as though it was filled with mushies. _Lead mushies! _Though she tentatively tried to instruct her body to respond, it seemed to have other ideas. Opening her eyes she could manage. That was about it. And that was just fine for now. After all, there was a dark blond-haired God lying in the bed next to her.

Luana vaguely recalled she had been waiting for him, and wondered if she should be angry that he was late. But late for what? She wasn't exactly certain. She furrowed her brows, trying to make the memories come, but they were staying put, wherever they were.

She brushed off the thought as she studied him intently, his face so close to her own as he lay on his side, one arm resting across her body. She squinted, trying to keep her eyes in focus. _Hmm_. . . He looked a bit rough. As though he had had a run-in with battering ram . . . whatever that was. His face was relaxed in slumber and she smiled at how young and innocent he appeared, all his worries temporarily postponed while he rested.

Voices drew her attention and a small group of men entered her field of vision. She squinted again. She thought that two of them appeared familiar, or maybe it was just the snazzy beige uniforms that triggered her sense of déjà vu. The others, several yahrens older, stirred no memories whatsoever. She could hear the words of the older men, but strangely she couldn't understand a thing, the phonetics sounding almost alien to her.

"_So I guess we're off to see the wizard . . . "_

It scared her.

A whimper escaped her and suddenly her blond-haired God was leaning over her, his blue eyes filled with anxiety. She realized she couldn't think of his name.

_You . . . you are . . .I know you . . . I . . ._

That scared her even more.

----------

Dayton knew he really shouldn't be feeling the least bit apprehensive about meeting this Commander Adama. Hell, between his bachelor of science degree in astronautical engineering; his master of science degree in aerospace engineering; countless years progressing as a test pilot, instructor pilot, evaluative pilot, and mission commander; almost five thousand flight hours logged in over forty different aircraft; eventual selection for the astronaut program; and over six hundred hours logged in space— that being before his ill-fated trip through the 'wormhole'—one would tend to think there would be very little that could intimidate him. Especially after Torg. But for some reason, he felt like a kid having to face his dad after obliterating an expensive, irreplaceable, Italian picture window with a poorly aimed baseball.

Like the six-year-old Mark Dayton.

Likely, he reasoned, he was running on empty after their unexpected escape from the asteroid base, exacerbated by Dickens and Lieutenant Rooke's critical condition following surgery, as well as the feeling that he was in some alternate reality as he made the transition from the disgusting grime and squalor of the pirate base to this highly organized and precisely run military vessel that they called a Battlestar.

When the word had come that they were to be escorted to meet Commander Adama, some part of him had been expecting it to be just the two of them; mano-a-mano. Maybe he had just wrapped his mind around the meeting too thoroughly as he thought it through ahead of time, but the fact that Ryan, Baker and Porter were going along somehow threw him for a loop.

As usual, his right hand man, Ryan, could sense his tension, and did his best to dispel the atmosphere and, almost predictably, he greeted the Colonial Warrior 'honour guard' with the words, "Take me to your leader." Obviously, from the guard's response, his career in stand-up comedy was a poor follow-up choice to astronaut. However, Dayton knew from experience that that wouldn't deter his friend.

Ryan kept up his incessant, but highly amusing prattle allowing Dayton to compose himself as they passed through the Life Station, getting a brief glimpse of Starbuck and his lady friend, before they continued through the seemingly endless corridors of the vast warship. It indeed made the largest of US aircraft carriers seem minute in comparison, and he had to keep reminding himself that there were over two hundred _other_ ships somewhere out there that the titan was escorting on its trek across the universe.

They were so scientifically advanced in so many ways that it boggled the mind. . . yet at the same time they seemed to have a strange affinity for toggle switches and a surprising lack of personal means of communication. He shook his head remembering the astonishing number of high school students who owned cell phones back in the US, resulting in the situation where they were never beyond the reach of a few punched buttons. Yet, here they seemed to have a number of stationary communicators interspersed throughout the corridors, instead of cell phones and BlackBerries. Go figure.

Then again, these people had been at war for over a thousand years, thus it made a certain amount of sense that less energy would be expended on conveniences and luxuries, and more on the science of war. But surely they were somewhat interrelated?

Several deck levels, an elevator and a couple corridors later, they finally came to a stop. Ama had coached them on their initial meeting with the illustrious commander as they were issued their languatrons in the Life Station, with Dorado looking on in bemusement, and occasionally assisting with technical difficulties. The captain was currently on his way to be debriefed by the _Galactica_'s XO, and Ama would also be released, now that they were all officially clear of infectious diseases.

Dayton could feel that familiar erectness settling into his body at the thought of meeting this leader of the Colonial people, both in military and political capacities. He couldn't help but wish he had had time to deal with his long hair. Lord, they looked like a bunch of refugees from a 1960's Hippie Love-in. Or maybe the Hair Bear Bunch. On second thought, maybe they didn't. He honestly couldn't remember what the animated bears looked like anymore. Another vague, but nonetheless, somewhat pertinent reference to another life . . . another time . . .

Ryan leaned over and whispered to him, "Just remember, he's not _our _superior officer."

"And _you_ remember, he's everyone else's around here." Dayton replied as the door slid open and they had their first glimpse of Commander Adama.

Adama's dark eyes flickered over the group curiously, leaving Dayton with the idea that the man missed very little. Silver hair and dark eyebrows beneath a lined forehead bespoke the constant worries the man experienced as leader of the Fleet. An eye catching silver medallion which inferred rank or station rested at his throat on his dark blue dress uniform. His back was slightly humped, as though having a spinal deformity of some sort, but still he carried with him an undeniable presence. He smiled slightly before stepping forward to greet them.

"Please, come in. I apologize that I was unable to welcome you until now, but even I must bow to Doctor Salik's authority in matters medical. I'm Commander Adama." He reached out his right hand, grasping Dayton's forearm and squeezing it. "Commander Dayton?"

"Yes, I'm Commander Mark Dayton." Dayton confirmed, returning the grip and realizing Adama had to have been given his description or photo to pick him out from the identically dressed astronauts. "My men, Commander: Lieutenant Colonel Robert Baker; Patrick Ryan, PhD; and James Porter, PhD."

Adama nodded, turning to each and grasping their arms warmly. "Welcome. I cannot begin to tell you how much this means to our people, to actually . . . meet men from Earth." He stood back, staring almost reverently at them, as though he couldn't quite believe it himself.

"We're kind of excited about it ourselves." Ryan returned with an easy smile. "Your hospitality has been a vast improvement over our previous hosts'. . . at least so far."

Adama nodded soberly, taking in the painfully thin group. "I trust we've seen to your needs adequately? I understand your injured man is still in critical condition."

"Yes, Commander, so we were informed. I haven't seen him since the surgery." Dayton paused, letting that sink in. "And we thank you for receiving us. I'm sure you have some questions, and a few doubts . . . " he suggested.

Adama's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, "Doubts, Commander?" He motioned to the chairs in front of his desk, and Baker and Porter made their way in that direction.

"I gathered from Captain Dorado, and Lieutenant Starbuck to a lesser extent, that Earth is deemed by_ some _of your people to be purely conjecture or myth." Dayton explained, staying in place. He didn't fail to notice Ryan remaining at his side . . . as always. "It would obviously be advantageous to anyone seeking asylum to claim to be from there, whether they were or not." He ignored the elbow that Ryan delivered to his ribcage . . . as did Adama.

"I . . . see." Adama blinked. "You're very candid, Commander."

"I think it's best, Commander. After thirty years of imprisonment, one learns to value the time he has left. Beating around the bush is a complete waste of time. I'd like to start our relationship, assuming we're going to have one, with a clear and open line of communication. Let's try to avoid any misunderstandings if that's at all possible. We have nothing to hide from your people and we aren't a risk to them . . . though I'm not altogether certain that it works both ways."

Adama's eyebrows rose slightly at that, his gaze flickering briefly to Ryan as the man let out an apparent groan of dismay at his commander's blunt words. "That's a . . . refreshing approach, Commander. And one I not only respect, but appreciate more than I could begin to explain." He smiled faintly, thinking of long wasted centars spent maneuvering in bureaucratic arenas. "Please be seated. I'm sure you're as anxious as I am to begin."

----------

It was worse than facing a Cylon Base Ship's force of fighters all by himself. Actually the more he thought about it, the more he'd rather be single-handedly squaring off against one hundred and fifty Cylon Raiders in his Viper than sitting by helplessly in the Life Station as Dr. Paye examined Lu.

Again.

Somehow, Starbuck had thought that she'd be able to tell him what had happened to her since he'd seen her last.. He was wrong. Her recollection of the events was sketchy at best. She recalled looking up Oriana in her quarters with the intent of finding out what the woman really knew about the triad fiasco, but after that her mind seemed to be blank. Just small fragments of memories remained as she seemingly blacked out momentarily to be drawn deep into the locked portals of her mind, trying to get a glimpse of what lay behind.

"Well done, Luana. Now I want you to sit up." Paye instructed her, stepping back from the biobed, only just out of reach.

Starbuck instinctively took a step closer to her as her brown eyes locked on his, full of uncertainty and fear. Since that first moment when she had awakened, she had constantly sought him out, never letting her glance stray far from him. As if she was seeking his reassurance . . . or just making sure he didn't turn heel and run.

"Starbuck, let her do it." Paye reminded him, voice cautionary but no-nonsense. He was trying to find out exactly how severely her neurological damage had affected her motor functions and speech. So far, her pupils were responding adequately to light; she had moderate strength in all extremities; she was alert, and oriented to person and place; her speech was slow and laborious, but comprehensible; she could read; and she tried her best to obey commands, but was clearly having difficulty getting her limbs to obey.

Starbuck let out a short breath of frustration as he again stepped back, _willing_ Luana to swing her legs over the bed with her usual grace. He could feel his own body reacting, each muscle tensing as if he could somehow transfer the necessary strength and energy to her. It was excruciating to see her frustration and self-disgust as she strenuously pulled herself to a sitting position, her teeth clenched and tears of disappointment and anger running down her face.

"Nicely done, Luana." Paye congratulated her. "Do you think you can stand with some support, or have you had enough for now?"

Luana wiped her tears away clumsily with the back of her hand, taking deep, gasping breaths. She looked between Paye and Starbuck and opened her mouth on two separate occasions before she finally replied, her voice thick with determination and pure guts, "Stand".

Starbuck was at her side in a milli-centon.

"Remember to let Luana do the work, Starbuck. We're only here if she's unable to support herself." Paye reminded him, wishing he could have just sent the warrior away and had a med tech standing by as was the norm. However, the staffing levels were stretched too thin with the influx of asteroid refugees, and the lieutenant simply refused to leave the ensign's side, at least while he was confined to the Life Station recovering from his own injuries.

"C'mon, Lu. You can do it." Starbuck encouraged her quietly, resting a hand on her upper arm. She looked up at him searchingly for a moment before again gathering her resolve.

Luana took another deep breath and attempted to stand. The concentration on her face was evident as she strained to make muscles respond to silent commands.

"Move yourself to the edge of the bed first, Luana, and then lean forward. You need to get your center of gravity over your legs before you push yourself upward. " Paye instructed her patiently, aware she had to learn all over again things that she had taken for granted all of her life.

Starbuck chewed his lip as he listened to the physician deliver step-by-tedious-step instructions on how to stand, as if she was some kind of mentally defective . . . He closed his eyes briefly, shaking off the repugnant thought.

Luana was groaning as though it was the most difficult thing she had ever done in her life. She struggled to her feet, swaying on the way up, but immediately steadied by a hand on each arm by the men flanking her. "Did . . . it," she muttered, her face set and determined.

"Yes, you did. Well done." Paye nodded. "That's enough for now. Can you sit down?"

Luana strenuously shook her head. "Walk."

"Remember this will get easier with each successive neural stimulation treatment. We don't want to overdo it now, Ensign." Paye reminded her.

"Then . . . " Luana growled at him, "_You_ . . . sit."

Starbuck sniffed in amusement. It was another indication that _his_ Lu was still in there. The same spunky young woman he had left behind when he launched on his patrol was somewhere beneath that battered husk, battling to break out. He suddenly found himself fighting down that fury that had been simmering beneath the surface since he had found out from Boomer the sketchy details surrounding the situation. Lords, as soon as he got out of the Life Station, he was going to get to the bottom of who was responsible for this and they'd pay for their actions. Oh, and he was charging interest for every agonizing step that Luana took and every tear she shed along the way. Yeah, whoever was responsible . . .

The light but insistent touch of her hand brought him back to the events at hand. She looked up at him, eyes squinting, intently searching his features once again. "Will you . . . stand by me?" Her voice was hesitant. Nervous. As though afraid of his answer.

"I won't let you fall," he assured her, putting an arm around her and giving her a gentle squeeze. He was proud of her determination, especially in the face of her fear.

"I don't mind . . . falling . . . as long as you're there . . . to help me up again," she told him slowly, but purposely, struggling to get out the words, again holding his gaze and raising a hand to tentatively caress his face.

He paused for a moment, studying her. His head cocked to the side as he realized what she was truly asking. As tempted as he was to ignore it, as he had many times in the past with other women, this was not the time or the place to be deliberately obtuse. He reminded himself that it was because of _him_ that she was in this situation. He took her hand, placing a tender kiss on her fingers before responding. "I'll be there, Lu. Whatever it takes, I'll be there. I promise."

----------

Apollo waited wearily in the pilot's seat of the Colonial shuttle, headset in place. Despite all the work they had done in preparation for blowing the pirate base, it still came down to what Colonel Tigh had found out from Skeff, the retrieval operator from the asteroid hangar, Captain Dorado, and Commander Dayton, as to _how_ they would do it.

"Colonel Tigh here." The executive officer's voice finally came on line, the line crackling with interference from the asteroid field despite their proximity to the base.

"Colonel, Captain Apollo. We're only a centar from beginning to evacuate the base. Engineer Volk has reestablished a power supply to the Dynamos and is now bypassing the preset energy emission levels. We should be ready to blow them from the pirate control room in the next centar or two."

"Apollo, I checked with a couple of the pirate engineers, and I'm afraid they weren't very forthcoming about any information concerning the Dynamos. Honestly, I don't think they really knew the answers, and they certainly seemed unconcerned about any potentially powerful explosions." Tigh informed him. "Your man, Skeff, was certainly more friendly, but he confessed he didn't know much about them either. Apparently, the two men who did are dead."

"Anything from Dorado or Dayton?"

"Dorado gave us similar information to what we already had regarding his interactions with the spheroids. He did say that Lieutenant Starbuck apparently blasted the one that disabled your fighter to get your Viper out of range without being hit himself."

"With no repercussions." Apollo noted with interest.

"Well, other than the obvious ones." Tigh remarked dryly, "But apparently the explosion was 'less than spectacular' in Starbuck's opinion."

"That sounds more promising." Apollo nodded. "Jolly and Greenbean are loading one of the spheroids in the hold of a shuttle to bring back for Dr. Wilker to dissect, but it's powered down, and we have every intention of keeping it that way until it's in a controlled environment. Any word from Commander Dayton?"

"The Earth men are out of Life Station and being debriefed by Commander Adama as we speak. I think we still have time to wait for final word from that quarter. Just continue as planned for now, Apollo. What about the base's main reactor?"

"Just like the Dynamos. We'll overload it until it blows and it'll take the whole base with it. No missiles required. Volk is going to put a delay on the triggering mechanism so we can get away safely . . . in a Viper anyhow." The captain added, having every intention of being the man who hit that trigger and fled for his ship.

"Colonel? Doctor Wilker here."

"Yes, Doctor?"

"Just briefly . . . Captain, you have thoroughly scanned the reactor system, of course?"

"Yes, Doctor," said Apollo, almost a sigh. "It's an archaic, laser-fired fusion reactor, like we used to use over a thousand yahrens back." Lords, Wilker was such a techno-geek . . .

"Could you upload the scans to my lab, please? I'd like to look at it."

"Sure, Doc." Apollo followed suit.

"What's your plan?" asked Tigh.

"Basically, a replay of what we did to the Cylon pulsar cannon on Arcta. By blowing both the cooling and damping control systems, we can make the reactor run wild, and blow itself to Kingdom Come in a matter of centons. Frankly, the way they have the thing Tribunal-rigged and by-passed all to Hades Hole, I'm surprised it hasn't blown up already. It looks like 'The Cylon That Time Forgot' or something."

"I see. Keep me advised, Captain."

"Yes, Colonel. And if you can, let the Earthers know I would appreciate any data they might have on this museum piece."

"Understood, Captain. I'll update you when I hear from Commander Adama."

"Yes, sir."

"Tigh out."


	63. Chapter 63

Luana had exceeded all of Dr. Paye's expectations as she repeatedly pushed her limits, and apparent abilities, while she completed her first round of physical therapy. Completed? More like fought her way through it tooth and nail. Now, centars later, she was justifiably asleep.

Starbuck clumsily fingered a deck of cards, impaired by the medical wraps of his regeneration treatments targeting not only his hand lacerations, but every other knick, cut or wound on his body. Ama had brought the deck to him as she returned from isolation to check on her goddaughter. Lia had also checked in on her sister, but had grudgingly given in to Dr. Paye's request that they limit the length of their visits and allow the ensign to get some much needed rest. The truth be known, Lia needed some rest herself. Now the lieutenant was forced to twiddle his thumbs, about all he could perform with any alacrity, as he watched Luana murmur and toss as she relived in her dreams what she couldn't seem to remember while awake.

Damn, it was frustrating! He had seen by the look in her eyes that the truth of what had happened lay just beyond her cognitive grasp, and she had practically vibrated with pent up feelings and vexation that constantly overwhelmed her emotionally when he had again asked if she remembered anything. At one instance he had recognized it as pure rage. Rage against the empty caverns of her memory, and at those who had left her this way. And, of course, her tenuous grasp on her control made it even worse. Luana was not accustomed to falling apart, or bursting into tears at the slightest bit of angst, and no matter how many times Dr. Paye told her it was part of her brain damage and would improve with time and treatment, Starbuck could see her battling to maintain both her control and her fierce determination as her anxiety and disappointment enveloped her.

The part that was really difficult for _him_ was he seemed to be experiencing it with her. He didn't quite understand how he had been sucked into the vortex of her conflicting emotions, but he was well and truly living every excruciating moment of it with her, almost as if they shared a single brain.

Hades Hole, if this was love, no wonder he had navigated clear of it for most of his life!

Oh, he had fancied himself in love a time or two . . . or—_ahem_—three. He and Aurora. And Athena, right before the Holocaust. Cassie just last sectar. But now looking back he wasn't so sure about that anymore. _Mind you, based on that track record, Bucko, you might find yourself repeating that sentiment next yahren._

Still, he had never felt so . . . what exactly was it? He shook his head trying to identify the instinctive need he had to be near her. To comfort her when she was upset. To congratulate her when she excelled. To encourage her when she was disheartened. To share with her everything that he loved. He shut his eyes and groaned internally.

_Lords, it sounded so fracking cheesy._

It was time to move on. He needed to know what Willem and Reece had found out when they interrogated that . . . that snitrad's astrum, Borka. Surely they would know who gave the directive to kill Oriana and Luana. He had to stop dwelling on emotions and expectations and get his mind wrapped around solving this mystery, just like figuring out strange or conflicting scanner readings in a cockpit. _Focus, Bucko. Focus._

Before he had to change his name from Starbuck to Starstruck.

----------

Adama spun a tale like the folklorists of old, or at least like some of the University Professors Dayton had known as a young man. The commander had an engaging presence, and Dayton and the others couldn't help but sit mesmerized as he told them the story of the exodus from dying Kobol, the Twelve Colonies, the Destruction, and their resulting odyssey to find Earth.

Of course, the drink of something that Adama called _ambrosa_ didn't hurt the atmosphere either. It was as smooth as a summer's rain, yet filled Dayton with a warm glow, which was so much better than the bone-shaking shudder and intense heartburn he'd been getting with the Asteroid Whiskey all these years. Adama's brother-in-law, so he said, had been in the business of making the stuff, and the Colonial commander had a few precious bottles of the best vintages tucked away.

By the time they had poured their second round, Dayton had taken center stage, telling their own tale in kind. Occasionally, Ryan would insert something relevant, but for the most part Baker and Porter sat by, still amazed by the Languatron which translated everything for them, only occasionally missing the odd word, or making heavy weather of some idiom. If only the damn thing would stop making the men sound like some sultry vamp selling her wares in the Red Light District. Adama had raised his eyebrows at the annoying inflection. It seemed they were all the butt of someone's little joke. Probably Dorado's. Or perhaps Ama had done something unintentionally. Evidently, the commander of the Battlestar had a better sense of humour than most of Dayton's commanding officers of the past.

"Gentlemen, some time ago we intercepted a couple of long-range transmissions on a gamma frequency," Adama explained. "The first was unfortunately destroyed during a battle with the Cylons, and was never really analyzed adequately, but the second—received sectars later—has become the topic of heated debates between scientists and bureauticians alike that have seen it."

"What _kind_ of transmissions, Commander Adama?" Dayton asked, swirling the golden contents of his glass.

"Images and sounds of an unidentified spacecraft . . . or a small base of unknown derivation."

"Can we see them?" Ryan asked, leaning forward.

"Of course," Adama replied. Opening a folder, he set a series of holoptics before them. "All that survive of the first transmission are these six screen captures. As you can see, the quality is quite low." He slid them forward, and was greeted with a series of wide eyes, and gasps.

"My God!" said Porter, followed by an expletive from Ryan. Dayton stared with burning eyes at the images.

"I take it you recognize the object," said Adama, his eyebrows raised as he awaited their response.

"I sure as bloody hell do!" said Dayton, never lifting his eyes from the pictures. "It's a LEM!"

"A what?" asked Adama, brows furrowed. Obviously, they were at last getting somewhere.

"A LEM," repeated Dayton. "That's NASA terminology for the 'Lunar Excursion Module'. It's the first craft to land men on the Moon. That's our Moon behind it." He indicated the barren, crater-pocked world below the spacecraft.

"I see. And when was this?" Adama's brow furrowed as his excitement at the revelation that this was really a transmission from Earth, mixed with his disappointment that their technology was so archaic.

"Back in '69," replied the other. He noticed another quizzical eyebrow. "That's over seventy years ago." Dayton turned to his comrades. "It's an Apollo ship!"

"Excuse me? A _what _sort of ship?" asked Adama, stopping with the glass half-way to his mouth. "Did you say . . ."

"Apollo, yes," said Ryan, recalling meeting a warrior of that name. A somewhat determined one. "That was the series of missions that culminated in the Moon landings, with Apollo 11."

"Curious name," said Adama, mind reeling.

"Yeah, it was named for one of our ancient Greek gods."

"It is also the name of my son, gentlemen." For a moment, the room was silent.

"I think we met him on the asteroid base." Ryan inserted to break the mood. "No offense, Commander, but he didn't look or act much like a God. But then, I have limited experience in that realm . . . "

Dayton shot him a 'look' before returning his attention to a slightly bemused Adama. "It does look like there is indeed some sort of connection, Commander," he said slowly, as he wondered about the Commander's name as well. _Adama. Adam. Could there be . . .?_

"You said there was a surviving video, Commander?" asked Baker through the languatron.

"Yes, there is," replied Adama, turning his screen towards them. Drawing a memory chip from the folder, he inserted it into the monitor on his desk. "Commander Dayton, since receiving word of your . . . existence, I've reviewed the recording numerous times, and I am almost certain your name—or something very close to it—is part of this transmission." He studied the Earthman closely for his reaction.

Dayton was certain the bottom of his stomach had just dropped into in his newly acquired Colonial style boots, but he was also as sure that no one else in the room—with the possible exception of Ryan—was aware of it. He kept his eyes on the contents of his glass, slowly raising it to his lips and purposely taking a small sip before meeting Adama's searching gaze. "Captain Dorado mentioned this recording that you believed was from Earth. He thought you might want our opinion on it." However, never in a million years did he think he would be looking at a clip of himself.

"News travels fast." Adama smiled slightly, hitting a key and sitting back as the transmission started to play.

It was unbelievable. Almost dreamlike in quality. Dayton watched the footage of the International Space Station and listened to the sound of his own voice, and occasionally Baker's, as they communicated with the ISS on their approach over thirty years ago. It pulled at his consciousness and he had the sense that if he closed his eyes he could almost transport himself back there, at least mentally.

_ "Hey! This is Commander Dayton on the __Endeavour_._ C'mon you loafers! Wake up! Remember? It's delivery day."_

_ "Oh, so you're the guys with the groceries! Finally! We wondered when you were going to get here! Did you remember to bring my T-Bone steak, Mark? Medium rare, with pepper sauce, and mushrooms?"_

_"Oui, oui, Madame! And ze endive salad, and ve have brought ze wine as Madame has requested! A fine Shiraz from . . . Bolivia."_

_ "Bolivia!" A light laughter filled the line. "Sacrilege! Alright, _**_garçon_**_! I'll fire up the grill. Hey, __Endeavour__, I. . ."_

_ "Oh My G..."_

_ "__Endeav_..."

Then a fiery blast blew thelargest, most sophisticated, and most powerful spacecraft ever built in the history of mankind—at least that of Earth's—to space dust in the blink of an eye.

----------

There had been little time on the mission for Sheba to talk to Apollo alone. She could feel his eyes upon her repeatedly, had met his gaze to recognize his concern and unspoken support as she did her best to maintain her professionalism while thoughts of her father intruded constantly. The moment in the hangar with Bojay had been bitter sweet, as she embraced her longtime friend and wing leader. Yes, her father was alive, yet they still didn't know where he was, and questions as to why he wouldn't have contacted her—not to mention the Fleet—raced through her mind.

It was like walking a tightrope in a carnival. She was doing her best to keep her balance, but between feelings of elation, confusion, and even betrayal, she was having a hard time trying to maintain that artificial front of decorum Add to that the run-in with the Wraiths and the death of the young pirate pilot, and she knew she was on the brink of teetering off the straight and narrow, and plummeting into the darkness.

Unfortunately, the darkness—the loss of her control—scared her more than staying the course, and it was with determination and resolve that she lifted her chin and strode purposefully to meet the captain as he cleared the tunnels and entered the hangar.

"We're almost ready to head out," Apollo told her as he approached. He scanned the hangar for the remaining stragglers that were packing up gear and stowing it aboard the shuttlecrafts. "We're just awaiting the go ahead from Command to blow the remaining Dynamos and get out of here."

Sheba swallowed the turbulent emotions that seemed to be forming the strangest lump in her throat, now that the Strike Captain was close by. He looked as tired as she felt. It had been too many centars without sleep since they had first 'lost' Starbuck. Truth be known, the previous night hadn't been too restful with the Malocchio Conflict, nor the one before when Starbuck and Cassiopeia had split up and she had comforted her friend. No wonder her eyeballs felt as though she needed to pull them out and soak them in astringent to remove the layers of sand that resided on them. She nodded at him.

"How are you holding up?" he asked, briefly touching her arm and gently squeezing it.

"Fine," she murmured, refusing to let him see how far from the truth that was. She wouldn't allow him to think that she wasn't fulfilling her duty right now. Or that she couldn't put aside her personal issues as well as any other warrior.

Apollo studied her intently for a moment. "Ensign Haya was hurt helping to set up one of the Mining Stabilization Units."

"What happened?" she asked.

"Apparently, it wasn't stable."

Sheba blinked, a slow, involuntary smile overtaking her features reluctantly. "Are you kidding?"

Apollo grimaced. "No. They hadn't anchored the unit before they started drilling. It's only minor, but she won't be able to pilot the shuttle on the way back."

Sheba frowned, catching the gist of where he was heading with this. "Boomer would be happy to take over for her. Ensign Drina could take his Viper . . . " She could see that familiar set to his jaw. "What?"

"I was actually thinking that _you _could pilot the shuttle."

"Wait just a centon, Apollo." She raised a hand, holding it before her like a shield. "I sat back and took it graciously when you had Silver Spar Squadron backing up Blue instead of attacking the asteroid base, when you knew I was waiting to find out about my father. I even kept my mouth shut when you told me I'd be escorting the shuttle on the way back to base instead of being part of the expedition." She saw a flicker of discontent crossed his features at how _that_ had turned out. "But I'm _not _going to pilot the mining shuttle when I'm perfectly capable of flying my own bird back to base." She reigned in her anger and smiled sweetly. "Why don't_ you _do it?"

"Because I'll be activating the charges that will blow the main reactor after everyone else is out of here."

She looked at him blankly, standing stone still for a micron. "Of course you will. " She smiled, almost the way the psychiatrist smiles at the patient who talks to pink Cylons in the flower gardens, and waters them regularly when they aren't dancing. "How absolutely stupid of me."

"Sheba . . . " It was more a breath than a word. "Please. This isn't . . ."

"What was I _thinking_? You couldn't possibly take a nice, safe assignment like flying the mining shuttle when there's a hazardous one available." Her voice rose with her ire and she pushed back the hair that had cascaded into her face as she tossed her head with anger. "After all, with another forty warriors at this position, why _not_ pick the one who was up all night filing reports on the Malocchio Conflict, and who then still insisted on going on early patrol during which he was blasted by a Dynamo and lost consciousness for almost a centar! _Lords_, and I heard that you intended to dress Starbuck down for not admitting his limitations and collapsing in his cockpit! For heaven's sake, Apollo! Look at yourself!"

"I'm too busy looking at you," he responded quietly, knowing there was _some_ truth in her words, but also knowing he could handle his responsibilities. "I know you're on edge, Sheba. It must be overwhelming to discover your father's alive . . . "

"Damn right, it's overwhelming, but I can still perform my job, Apollo!"

"You proved that when you took on those Wraiths." Apollo nodded, still watching her intently. "You've proven it a hundred times. You don't need to prove it again, Sheba. Not to me." He took a breath, his face reflecting his conflicting emotions as to whether to approach her as lover or subordinate. He glanced at the waiting shuttle. "All the same, I need someone with experience since your co-pilot is going to be effectively disabled."

"Not _my_ co-pilot. Oh, no!" she refuted. "What is it with you and this _instinct _you seem to have to protect me? I've been on active duty almost as long as you have, and I have even more experience in combat and ground assaults!" She reminded him of the time she spent pummeling the Cylon Empire with Cain as her Commander, while he was otherwise occupied escorting the Fleet towards Earth. She frowned as he momentarily turned away, just as he had done in the cockpit of the Cylon Raider all those sectars ago. "Well?"

"I," he began, voice rough, as if it was hard to speak. He looked about the hangar, anywhere but at her, as if the words he sought were hovering there for him to pick out of the air. "I . . .cannot command if I'm not willing to take the most dangerous assignments myself." He let the words hang in the stale air a few moments. "I only know how to lead by example."

"I don't think so, Apollo." Sheba grabbed his arm, forcing his gaze back to her. "This is _not_ about how you make the average command decision with just any warrior, this is about how you treat _me_ differently. Hades, you let Starbuck—who looked like he'd been run over by a landram, I might add—get back in a Viper. Now, if you want to give me a detailed explanation of how _I_ look worse than_ him_, you go right ahead."

It was almost like they had gone back several sectars to when they were constantly at each other's throat. That entire Cain versus Adama climate that had been created when the two Battlestars had reunited and had climaxed in a stand off in the landing bay of the Pegasus seem to once again hang over them. Eldest child of Adama, versus only child of Cain, each warrior standing behind the father, steadfast in the opinion that their commanding officer was right.

Apollo took a deep breath, knowing he was close to losing his own temper as she questioned his authority and judgment. The trouble was he still wasn't sure how to handle a personal relationship with one of his senior officers. The problem had also come up when Serina had become a Colonial Warrior, however, her premature and tragic death had concluded that scenario before they could really address it. How could he separate the professional from the personal? It just didn't seem possible. Not for him anyhow. And it was hardly something he could speak to his father about. Adama was from a separate generation in which fraternizing was dissuaded.

"I'm waiting," Sheba reminded him, catching herself with one hand hovering over her weapon instinctively. She shifted, letting go of his flight jacket and crossing her arms over her chest, hoping he hadn't noticed.

He had.

"Sheba, I was wrong to let Starbuck fly. He has this . . . ability to pull the wool over my eyes on occasion. He knows me too well, and he used that to his advantage." Starbuck had basically manipulated him into allowing the injured lieutenant to fly, also averring that he was 'okay'. Apollo could understand why his friend had done it—Starbuck had made a point of explaining how desperate he was to find out about a loved one, knowing Apollo had been in that situation more than once—but he sure as Hades wasn't going to let him get away with it. "I'm not going to let that happen again with you now. By making a bad decision, I could have lost one of my best friends. He could have put others at risk as well. I'm not going to make the same mistake with you."

She sighed deeply, turning from him. "You said you needed to lead by example, Apollo. If that's true, do it now." She turned back to him, reaching for his hand, and then abruptly changing her mind and dropping her own to her side.

"What do you mean?"

"You think I have too much on my mind to stay focused on a mission right now, and you want me instead to pilot the shuttle that's ready for takeoff?" She waited for his response. A cautious nod. "Well, I think you're about ready to collapse after running full tilt for two consecutive days without sleep. I don't think you should be the one who activates the main reactor, and then races for his ship, before it blows. Mistakes happen far more often to the distracted and exhausted." She saw him open his mouth and then abruptly close it again. "Yes, I know that can mean me as well as you."

"Sheba, you're negotiating with me," he stated the obvious.

"It's what two people who care about each other do when they have a disagreement, Apollo."

He paused as he tried to put into words what he was really thinking and feeling. Truthfully, he wished he could simply pull rank on her and order her to the shuttle, but he knew that that would only further stress a relationship that seemed to teeter between thriving and flailing.

For some reason, he was drawn towards strong, determined women who both knew what they wanted, and weren't afraid of walking all over his male ego to get it. Both Serina and Sheba had met him head on, not hesitating to let him know exactly what he had done wrong, or what he could do to remedy it. Yet despite his attraction to Sheba for her vivacity, tenaciousness, sense of duty, and that childlike wonder that seemed to burble from her unexpectedly, they seemed to be having issues of late mostly related to their professional relationship.

He thought she spent too much time second guessing his motivation. She thought he spent too much time considering her assignments. The smartest thing he had done was to leave her in Silver Spar under Bojay's command. At least on a daily basis, Bojay was responsible for her from a military perspective.

"Well?" she asked again, her bottom lip turning upward in a frown of disapproval. "Look, if this is going to be a . . ." She broke off as an unfamiliar droning filled the hangar. At once, both snapped back into 'warrior' mode.

Apollo grabbed his commlink. "What is it?"

----------

Hinnus had finally conceded to Starbuck's demand that the med tech comm Security and have Reece or Willem come to see him. The lieutenant needed to know what had gone down with Borka and Kaden, and just whose payroll they were on. The medical team had once again separated the couple, however only by a couple metrons, so the med techs could monitor Starbuck's treatment without interrupting Luana's rest.

Luana continued to sleep restlessly, and it tore at him to be there watching helplessly as he was confined to the biobed during his treatment. The upside was that Dr. Paye was predicting his imminent discharge with a strict regimen of rest, proper nutrition, and twice daily returns to the Life Station for antibiotic and regeneration treatments until the shiny, reddened, new skin layers on his abrasions and wounds were less fragile and the physician was satisfied that no lingering infection remained. Of course, the downside was that he wouldn't be there for Lu on a constant basis, but he had already discussed with Ama a schedule of sorts for their rotating support network, including Lia, as the injured ensign continued her physiotherapy and neural stimulation treatments.

Rooke and Dickins had been moved into the main Life Station ward, and Med Tech Tone was in constant attendance as he moved back and forth between the two men, clearly up to his eyeballs reading medical reports and test results and responding by furiously reprogramming bio-monitors and life support equipment. He had assured Starbuck that both men were holding their own and that the level of care provided was normal in their condition. Neither man had awakened, and in fact, looked to be sedated beyond caring as far as the lieutenant was concerned.

"I understand _his highness_ wanted to see me."

Starbuck turned to see the rather annoyed countenance of Reece striding towards him. The Security Officer looked as tired as everyone else on the Battlestar.

"This better be good, Starbuck. I was about to crawl into my bunk for the first break I've had in the last thirty-six centars." Reece griped, pulling up a chair and flopping wearily into it beside the warrior's biobed His hair was standing on end on one side, and his uniform was wrinkled suggesting that he had actually achieved the horizontal position—obviously fully clothed—before being called back to duty.

"Boomer said you guys interrogated Borka and Kaden. Who are they working for?" Starbuck asked, his skin crawling at the strange sensation of the bio-sleeves enhancing the re-granulation rate of his body's natural healing process.

Reece sighed, looking over at Luana, her breathing soft and regular. "We don't know. Borka told us where Luana was, but he refused to crack about who is giving them their orders."

Starbuck snorted in disgust. "How persuasive were you?"

"Ask your friend Boomer, we were pretty damn persuasive." Reece replied defensively.

"Why don't you let _me_ try to convince him?" The lieutenant's face lit up, as though there was nothing in the world he would prefer to do right now . . . even encased like a mummy in regeneration sleeves.

Reece chuckled. "I hear you're in enough trouble as it is with Command. You sure you want to add assault to insubordination?" he replied, his smile stretching from ear to ear as Starbuck's own grin slipped from his face.

"Well, if Borka and Kaden won't give up a name, they must either be very loyal to their boss, or afraid of him. Which is it?" Starbuck asked the man.

Reece nodded, his expression serious once again. "That's the question. Frankly, I don't see loyalty as a character trait for either one of them."

"Then who's powerful enough out there to instill that kind of fear in their subordinates?" Starbuck smiled ruefully. "Besides Commander Adama, that is."

"That doesn't seem to stop you, does it?" Reece retorted. "We have a couple suspicions, but we're hoping that Corporal Komma gets somewhere with Oriana's computer files and we can find out for sure. In the meantime, I don't want you going off half-cocked and poking your nose in where it doesn't belong. This is a Security issue, and our jurisdiction, Starbuck. You'd do well to remember that."

"And I thought we were making headway with interdepartmental cooperation, " Starbuck mocked him. "Honestly, Reece, you disappoint me."

Reece leaned forward, studying the warrior intently. "What are you getting at, Starbuck?"

"Between you and me," Starbuck dropped his voice, "I'm on leave until I get medical clearance and I intend to find out who's responsible for this. Now, I'm not exactly in touch with the criminal element, though I could easily find a couple contacts from the old days who could help me out." He smiled smugly at the surprise on Reece's features. Since the Destruction, Starbuck had spotted a few old acquaintances in the civilian population from his days in the orphanages of Caprica or on the streets of Caprica City. He was well aware that a few of them were involved in nefarious activities, though he tended to believe it was more likely something minor like the Black Market, rather than anything serious. He had never burned those bridges, had in fact done his best to make sure his old mates were in a decent situation if possible. As such, he had a few markers he could call for favours and services rendered. Just another capstone in his impressive repertoire.

Finding out who Borka and Kaden were really working for should actually be child's play the more he thought about it. The Security Officer glared at him and he simply shrugged in return. "So despite your warning to the contrary, my nose will be so deep in the mong that I don't really see myself coming up for air until this is resolved. I can do it with your help, or without it. It's your call."

Reece let out a deep breath running his hands through his already mussed hair, making it even worse. "Well, I guess if you're in, you're in. I have something I need to tell you anyway." He looked away from the warrior to glance regrettably at Luana.

Starbuck nodded slowly, a little surprised at the Security Officer's calm capitulation. He had a feeling that he wasn't going to like this.

----------

At the time that the International Space Station had exploded, the ensuing series of events that Dayton and his crew had ultimately decided had been a trip through a wormhole of some sort had preoccupied his initial reaction at the loss of the existing ISS team, not to mention the absolute horror of the hundred billion dollar series of multi-national scientific research projects being destroyed. It had been a long time before the _Endeavour_'s crew had the luxury of trying to put the facts together and surmise what might have happened. Torg and the other pirates had kept them otherwise occupied.

"What happened?" Adama asked after the recording had run out, realizing he had been right. The voice on the recording_ had _been Dayton's. The stricken faces of the men before him clearly confirmed it.

"The International Space Station I told you about. That was it exploding just before we were scheduled to dock." Dayton explained after a moment, his voice slow and unsteady. He looked at his men and every one appeared shaken.

"My God!" whispered Ryan, shaking his head. "After all these years . . ." He looked up at his skipper, and slowly put a hand on his shoulder. "Mark, hey, I . . .I'm sure it was . . . it must have been . . . it was quick for her."

"Yeah," said Dayton, face tight, the sadness in his eyes obvious to all. "Yeah, I know Paddy. I know." He squeezed his eyes shut. Although he had figured out long ago that she had been a victim of terrorism, somehow hearing her voice brought back all the disbelief, pain and anger all over again.

"I'm afraid I . . . " began Adama.

"The female voice you heard," said Dayton, swallowing hard and regaining control of himself, "that was . . . Marilyn Johnson, Commander."

"A friend, I take it?"

"Yes, Commander. An old and dear friend from my early university days." The room was silent for a moment again as Dayton took a moment. "She was in the astronaut corps too. Just finished up three months on the ISS, and was coming back to Earth with us. Not only was the _Endeavour_ being retired, so was she. Back to civilian life."

"You have my condolences, Commander Dayton," said Adama.

"Her and Frank were going to get a small ranch," Dayton went on, memories for a moment taking over. Marilyn and Frank visiting almost a year before the incident. All the kids playing in the backyard as their parents sat on a patio enjoying a fine bottle of South African_ Shiraz_. Marilyn's favourite, at least for that week. Dreams and real plans for their future were discussed in detail. "A place up near Omak. Couple hundred acres. They were just about to close on it." He stopped any further reminisces by downing his drink in one go.

Adama nodded soberly. Hoping to lighten the mood a bit, he leaned forward to top each glass up with his best ambrosa as he pondered the incredible occurrence. It was as though the intercepted transmission was a portent of the Earthmen's coming . . . _Lords, Adama, you're starting to sound like Ama!_ Still, the coincidence was too remarkable for some higher power to not have intervened. "Gentlemen, I truly believe that you are here to inspire and encourage us at a time when some of our people are losing their faith and patience with our search for your home world. There are those who believe that Earth is purely the rambling musings of ancient prophets more interested in manifestations of their deities than of any accurate scientific information or explorative discoveries. Those would prefer to settle on another habitable world and abandon our quest."

"Quest?" Dayton smiled, seemingly quite himself again. "You make it sound very . . . _romantic_. Almost holy, like the Knights Templar or something. I thought it was ultimately the survival of your people that concerned you, Commander. What would be wrong with settling on another habitable planet and beginning anew?"

"Well, there is the matter of the Cylon Empire still pursuing us." Adama mused. He would ask about the 'Knights Templar' later on.

"So you would lead them to Earth to potentially destroy another civilization as well. Mine. Did you not learn from your mistakes as your people prepared to celebrate a peace accord not so long ago?"

"Commander Dayton, I believe I explained about the celestial beings that are guiding us on our journey," Adama explained patiently. "They have intervened twice before that we are aware of. I strongly suspect your arrival here now is also by their doing." He thought about the upcoming elections for the Council of Twelve. For the first time since the Fleet had congregated, the general population would be voting on their representatives, not a hasty assembly of the upper class as had occurred after the Destruction. More than one upcoming bureautician had a platform that included exploring the option of abandoning their trip to Earth and settling on a planet with sustainable resources.

"Commander Adama, with all due respect, we came through a wormhole thirty years ago, not yesterday." Ryan inserted. "Surely to God, if some benevolent angels were intervening on the behalf of mankind, they could have timed it a bit better to avoid dumping us off in that cesspool of malignant malevolence for a generation."

"I suspect that in time, it will be revealed that there was a greater purpose to even that," Adama returned slowly.

"Yeah?" Ryan laughed, sharply. "Well, unless your celestial friends are also passing on your technology to our people, then it will be a cold day in Hell before we'll be able to assist you to defeat your enemies. We don't have that kind of weaponry, not to mention our spaceships move a damn sight slower than yours. They'd massacre us." Ryan retorted.

"We're willing to share technology," said Adama.

"That's reassuring," replied Ryan drolly.

"Dr. Ryan, the gamma frequency that this transmission came in on indicates that this recording could have taken place hundreds of yahrens ago," Adama explained. "You said yourself that the older craft was over seventy yahr . . . years old by your reckoning. I'm certain that your people would have surpassed your technology by now, at least the way you remember it."

Dayton shook his head. "I'm not so sure about that, Commander Adama. That Space Station was a hundred billion dollar project . . . " He watched as Adama's brow furrowed, the languatron obviously failing him in its interpretation. "It cost an astronomical amount of currency."

Adama frowned, but decided that the Languatron's rendering 'money equal to the stars' obviously needed some work. He'd talk to Wilker.

Dayton continued, "There were also a couple of technical problems in that it required far too much maintenance, and in particular too much maintenance by risky, expensive EVAs; and its orbit was too highly inclined, making it difficult to reach from the Earth's surface in an economical way. A lot of critics complained that it was a waste of both time and American tax money, inhibiting progress on more useful projects. For instance, they claimed the money could have been better spent on dozens of unmanned space missions or for space exploration in general or even on social issues in our own country. I'm not even sure that they would have rebuilt it."

"A turning inwards, you mean? A slowing of space exploration?"

"Yes, at least _manned_ space exploration. And even if not, your Battlestar is centuries, if not more, beyond anything we had. It is unlikely Earth will have equaled it."

"Again, Commander Dayton, we are certainly willing and able to share technology." Adama continued, seeing the Earthman take a deep breath, preparing to press his point. "Besides, it could very well be that a thousand of your Earth years has elapsed since your time. I'm afraid we have no way of knowing how far that transmission has traveled, or how long ago it was transmitted, at least not right now. In any event, I _believe_ that we are being guided to Earth for a reason. We are _meant_ to be reunited with our long-sundered breathren. There is some greater purpose to all of this." He held his hands expansively before him.

"But you have no way of knowing for _certain_, Commander Adama." Dayton leaned forward, his features tight, his gaze intent. "Earth could very well be so far behind you technologically speaking that it would be logistically_ impossible _to build a space force capable of resisting these machines that destroyed your worlds. The time, the resources, the training, the language barrier . . . not to mention the absolute shock to our people that there really _is_ intelligent life out here . . ." He didn't miss Ryan's sudden smirk. "Your enemies could be upon us before the United Nations decided on where they were going to hold the blasted reception."

"You're assuming the worst case scenario, Commander . . ." Adama replied, shaking his head in silent refute.

"I _have_ to. It's what I _know_ to be true. It's what I left behind. These are _my_ people.

My wife, my children, perhaps their descendents . . . I can't know for certain . . . All I do know is that you showing up could mean extermination for all of them." Dayton posed vehemently.

"You know," Ryan added quietly, "with the state of things when we left, the people of Earth might very well have blown themselves to Smithereens. One more extremist terrorist group attacking the States, destroying the Space Station. Just remember what happened after the World Trade Center . . ." he shrugged almost apologetically for raising the issue as Dayton's eyes met his, wide with sudden comprehension.

"Holy crap . . . it didn't even occur to me . . ." In his mind, Earth was frozen in time, just the way he had left it. Dayton was intent on protecting her, but what if there was nothing left of her to protect? Then again, if these Cylons showed up, there would be nothing left of his beloved planet in either scenario save ashes. He slumped back in his chair shaking his head at the possibilities.

"Commander, if this other Battlestar, the _Pegasus_, is still out there, what about trying to destroy these Cylons _before_ you attempt to take your people to Earth?" Ryan suggested. "I can understand that it might not have seemed realistic while you had the sole responsibility of protecting your fleet, but now that you know there's another warship out there with the same firepower as yourself . . . " He recalled Lieutenant Dietra's rundown on the mind boggling weapons arsenal that the Battlestar carried.

"Dr. Ryan, two Battlestars by themselves cannot possibly take on the full might of the entire Cylon Empire." Adama returned patiently. "Unlike our own, their resources are unlimited. They simply build new machines to replace the ones we destroy."

Dayton stared at him in shock. First, Ryan points out that there might not be a Earth left to protect, and now . . . He could feel his glass slipping through his fingertips and struggled to regain his hold, but it tumbled to the floor despite his clumsy efforts. The glass shattered and the silence that ensued only heightened the overwhelming feeling of disbelief as his men looked at him with varying degrees of empathy. This was the most sophisticated and advanced craft they had ever seen, and Adama had just informed them that with another one just as powerful, they were still impotent against their enemy. "Sorry," he muttered to the Colonial Commander who shrugged it off as inconsequential, and poured him another drink in response.

Ryan cleared his throat to draw the attention from his Commander and friend. "Well, it seems to me that if _one_ Battlestar can escort two hundred odd ships safely across Star Systems virtually unscathed, that with _two _you could blow them to space grunge. There must be_ some _way to beat them."

Adama took a further sip of his ambrosa, nodding his understanding. "Long have I wondered how we managed to safely assemble what was left of our people under the looming Cylon occupation immediately after the Destruction. Logically, their forces should have intervened and destroyed the fleeing ships, not to mention followed them to, and subsequently destroyed the _Galactica_ long before we could even have reached Carillon." More furrowed eyebrows. He explained. "It was not to be. Since then, we have narrowly escaped annihilation time and time again, even encountering the _Pegasus_ and finding vast stores of fuel and equipment at the very moment we needed them most. And while some would attribute it to tactics, experience, and wisdom, and a few to just plain luck, I believe that divine intervention has given us the edge we needed in most situations."

"The _same _divine intervention that is leading you to Earth." Ryan added with a grim countenance.

Adama nodded. His telecom beeped. "Yes?"

"Commander, the sappers on the asteroid base need some information from the Earthmen regarding the Dynamos." Omega informed him. "It's critical as to how they decide to blow the base. Lieutenant Boomer standing by."

"Put him through." Adama replied.

"One moment, Sir," Omega responded and a long moment of slightly strained silence ensued as they awaited the transmission. "We're having some trouble maintaining the signal from where they are deep in the base with the interference from the asteroid field. As well, some kind of warning klaxon just went off and Captain Apollo is investigating. He'll return to the hangar when he's ready to report. Also, Commander, the salvaged Earth shuttle is now aboard."

"Thank you, Omega. Put Captain Apollo through when he contacts the bridge."

"Yes, sir."

Dayton sat forward again considering the man before him. "I get the idea, Commander Adama, that you're a man who's intent on his chosen path." His jaw clenched as he reviewed in his mind their conversation. Adama was clearly a zealot who would not even consider his concerns regarding his home world. While part of him was disappointed, the realist within him knew that it was unlikely his unsubstantiated feelings of impending doom for his people would be taken seriously. Especially when he looked like a Dennis Hopper look-alike from _Waterworld_.

"You said it yourself, Commander Dayton. I also prefer an open line of communication, and no misunderstandings. As president of the Council of Twelve and military Commander of the Fleet, I have a responsibility to my people first and foremost. I understand your concerns, but I also feel strongly that Earth is not only a part of our people's ancient history, it is also our future. I hope that in the time to come, we can discuss our peoples' histories, and perhaps find more threads of similarities that could help us discover what became of the thirteenth tribe that landed on your planet millennia ago."

Adama smiled benignly, his fingers entwined and his arms resting on the desk before him. The bureaucrat's slough off. Dayton could feel his body tensing. Then the telecom beeped again.

"Yes?"

"Captain Apollo, Sir."

"Put him through."

A pause and a click, followed by some static. "Commander, Captain Apollo here."

"Report, Captain."

"Sir, the secondary warning alarm for the life support systems has alerted us that this base will soon be uninhabitable." The captain relayed with a slight undertone in his voice that only his father would recognize. His son was agitated.

"Apollo, did you say 'secondary' warning alarm?" Adama asked.

"Yes, Commander. The primary alarm network probably shorted out long ago. It certainly is off-line now. It had been re-wired and patched so many times, it looked more like a mass of balled up duct tape than anything we would recognize as an operable system. Even the control unit was corroded and missing a couple of parts. That fairly accurately reflects the entire life support system. It appears that it's held together for the last number of yahrens with a prayer and a hope."

Adama nodded, looking meaningfully at Ryan and Dayton. Surely they wouldn't miss the fact that their rescue at this moment in time had saved most of the pirate base from certain death. Once again the fates had intervened in the favour of humanity. "What's the situation?"

"Volk and his team think we have a couple centars before the air is no longer breathable and we lose the artificial atmosphere. We're preparing to move out and should have the majority of the team away in under a centar."

"And preparations for blowing the base and the Dynamos?" Adama asked.

"We have a couple ideas about how to blow the base without needing to use a missile from the _Galactica_."

"Yes, Apollo. Colonel Tigh has briefed me. You need to know if there's any danger to over-energizing the Dynamos to destroy them."

"Yes, sir." Apollo replied.

"Do you know, Commander Dayton?" Adama asked him. "I realize you may not have been cognizant of the technical aspects of their weaponry . . ." He paused as Dayton raised a hand.

"Actually, I've been in their control room on more occasions than I'd care to remember." Dayton answered distastefully, remembering how he was forced through the torture of his men to help with repairs on archaic systems that he felt more comfortable with than the pirates did. Of course, a lot of the _Endeavour_'s parts had been scavenged to replace some of their own decaying circuitry. He raised his voice, looking at the commlink. "What exactly are you planning to do, Captain?"

Apollo briefly explained how they planned to simultaneously overload the Dynamos, and subsequently destroy them. "We noticed though that they had an energy control system of some sort preprogrammed into them. An upper and lower limit of the current they will accept, without either shutting off or going over the top. Our concern was _why_?"

Dayton paused, feeling Ryan's eyes upon him. He looked over to his friend who was watching him intently. He took a slow, deep breath, appearing to think it over. "That's simply because of the energy fluctuations from the base's main reactor. It's about as reliable as a drunken watchman on a Saturday night. The safety lock prevented the Dynamos from either shutting down if the reactor output dropped too low, or inadvertently activating due to power surges, and blowing themselves to Kingdom Come."

"We suspected that might be it. Thank you for your help, Commander Dayton." Apollo replied.

"No problem," he replied, concentrating his gaze on the ambrosa before him as Adama continued a dialogue with his son that the NASA Commander no longer heard. He had made his decision based on the information at hand. He too had to put his people first and foremost. He had theorized already that he would have to do something to stop them. Now, here was the answer thrown into his lap. He had no other choice.


	64. Chapter 64

The mood was tense as Dayton and his men were escorted to their new, but temporary quarters, on the crew deck. Dayton felt strangely calm now that he had made his decision, but Ryan was practically seething with repressed anger as he walked at his Commander's side, occasionally pausing to stare bullets at him.

In unspoken agreement, they kept their mouths shut about what had happened in Adama's office, and the two Colonial Warriors who courteously pointed out a few spots of interest on the way—most notably the Officer's Club—were distracted by Porter and Baker's multitude of appropriately timed inane questions.

Dayton was uncertain whether his other two men had understood the consequences of his statement to the Strike Captain in the presence of Commander Adama. The languatron, while effective for basic communication, might have lacked the vocabulary for describing Dynamos, energy fluctuations, or main reactors. It certainly seemed clueless when it came to subtle voice inflections. Ryan, however, most certainly caught the gist of what his commander was up to.

They entered their quarters, seemingly for visiting dignitaries or officers at one time by the looks of the spacious living area with the small sitting room just within the door. It was as big as Adama's quarters, with five bunks distributed around the rest of the room with accompanying bureaus. Three monitors, similar to those made available to them in the Life Station, were set up with comfortable chairs for their 'viewing pleasure'. The warriors ushered them inside, and reminded them that while they were free to explore that deck, including the OC, but that the rest of the Battlestar was considered a restricted military zone, and as such was off-limits.

Then they were alone.

Dayton held up a hand to Ryan, delaying the stream of words that were inevitably going to burst forth from his friend. He moved to a monitor and turned up the sound, hopefully masking any words that might be overheard by electronic devices. Hey, he didn't know for certain that the Colonials would bug them, but he wasn't going to take that chance.

"It's genocide!" Ryan spat at him in hushed tones, as he grabbed his commander by the shoulder and whirled him around. "What the hell have you done?"

"It's a . . . " he began, forcibly pushing his friend's hand from his shoulder, then stopped. Given the Colonials obvious superior technology, maybe turning the TV up wasn't enough. After all, it opened an electronic pathway into the room. Dayton raised his hands, and began making short, sharp gestures with them. "It is a calculated sacrifice to save our people, our planet." Dayton replied calmly by this sign language, known on Earth as ASL, or _American Sign Language._ He had learned it, practically been raised with it as a 'second language', in order to communicate with his youngest sister, who was deaf. Once imprisoned on the asteroid, he had taught it to the others, to give them a distraction from the usual same old, same old, occupying minds that at times seemed too dispirited or tired to think. At one point he had suggested it might provide some small measure of privacy from Torg and the rest, but a reluctant Dickins had pointed out that the obvious language barrier did an adequate job of that already. "I told you we'd have to find a way."

"But not _this _way!" Ryan protested, responding in kind, as Baker joined them.

"You really did do it," Baker shook his head in disbelief, his hands also communicating his thoughts. "I wasn't certain that I understood correctly . . ." He lapsed off as he studied his commander for a moment. "Do you realize that when they over-energize those Dynamos, it will not only blow the base, but probably take this Battleship with them?"

"I was counting on it." Dayton responded, nodding calmly. It had been theorized that it would take an immense amount of matter or energy to open a wormhole. Over the years, they had decided that the destruction of the International Space Station had potentially opened the wormhole on Earth's side of the universe. After enough discussion and information gained from Torg, and some admittedly limited calculations by Dayton, they had pieced together that the explosion of a _single _Dynamo during an energy fluctuation had caused the wormhole to open near the pirate's asteroid base. Now if the destruction of a _single_ Dynamo had created enough energy to open a wormhole, then the remaining nine exploding simultaneously would most likely wipe out the Dynamos, the asteroid base, part of the asteroid field, and surely the _Galactica_.

"Mark, this ship protects a Fleet of over two hundred ships. Civilians. The sick. The elderly. _Children._ They'd be almost defenseless without her." Ryan continued.

"I know." Dayton nodded. "That's the point, Paddy. They won't make it to Earth without the _Galactica_. None of them will. Not if that Cylon Empire is truly a force to be reckoned with."

"Do you know how many lives you'll be responsible for taking? Do you_ really _want that on your conscience when you meet your Maker?" Ryan asked, changing tact. His hands curled into fists as he met the stubborn, but familiar glare.

Dayton smiled slightly, crossing his arms over his chest as though he was already bored with the conversation. "I thought you didn't believe in God."

"That's an advantage that we non-believers get to exercise. We can still wield it as a threat at our convenience." Ryan responded, no hint of the usual humour on his features. "You can't do this, Mark." He dropped his hands and said aloud, "I'm not going to let you."

"I . . . believe I'm doing the right thing, Paddy." Dayton told him quietly. "We have family that we need to think about. What about Sylvia and your kids? Not a day goes by where I don't think about Yvonne. How she raised Jess and Lauren without their 'Dada'." Once again he reverted to sign language. "I have to protect them all, even if all that's left is their bloodline. I have to honour their memory." He could feel the tears pricking at his eyes as images of his beautiful blonde-haired wife playing with his daughters, one fair like her mother, the other dark like him, haunted his memories.

"Are you listening to yourself, Mark?" Ryan asked him, once again grasping his shoulder, so distressed by now he forgot to sign as he hissed into Dayton's ear. "What do you think Yvonne would say if you told her you were 'honouring her memory' by planning the . . . _wholesale__ murder _of these people? Don't you think _they_ have children? Don't you think _they_ have wives? Lovers? I've seen Starbuck's blood, buster. I know it's as red as my own! Did it ever occur to you that there could even be distant relations to Kobol's thirteenth tribe in this Fleet? According to Ama, it's possible." He laughed mirthlessly. "What if _you_ were descended from these people? What if someone you _knew_ was?"

Dayton paused, shaking his head at the improbability. "Paddy . . ."

"And you're going to tell us that we fought our way out of that _hellhole_, Dickins almost losing his life, only to have our own _friend_ . . ." His eyes narrowed as Dayton blinked at the use of the word. ." He grabbed the NASA Commander by the front of his tunic and stared him down, spitting his next words out. "Yes, my _closest_ friend, has decided for _all_ of us that our time in this big ole, ugly universe is through."

Dayton didn't move. He teetered forward as Ryan tightened his grip, trembling with emotion. He could sense, rather than see the fist that Ryan clenched, so tempted was he to thump his commanding officer. For the moment it gave him something else to focus on. "Go ahead. Do it."

Ryan let out a puff of air, pushing Dayton from him with disgust as if he was a rotting corpse, not his CO. "Damn you, Mark! You're better than this! You're a good man, not some kind of sociopathic killer!" He turned away, taking a deep breath, and running a hand back through long, greying hair flowing loose over his shoulders before looking back to the other.

"Do what you want, Paddy. It's your decision." Dayton replied audibly after a moment, doubt beginning to finally infuse him as images of all that his men had been through to gain their freedom raced through his mind.

Ryan sniffed in derision. He again walked up to the commander, this time taking the tip of his index finger and driving it into the man's chest. "Wrong. It's _your _decision. Me? I'm going to go check out the OC. I figure to get myself a rare steak and a cold beer before I'm blasted to oblivion. Maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll even have a chance to talk to an attractive woman before I die. I'll probably end up telling her all about Syl and the kids, but I don't care." He jabbed Dayton's chest one more time for good measure. "For thirty years we've been like brothers, Mark. Seems to me that if I can't believe in _you_ anymore, then there's nothing left in this goddamned existence to believe _in_." With that challenge issued, he turned on his heel and left.

"Except rare steaks and cold beer," muttered Dayton dryly, watching him go. He looked up at the others, but neither seemed disposed to say a word. Instead they looked him up and down as though he had unexpectedly taken up wearing makeup and dressing in drag.

Then they turned in disgust to follow Ryan.

----------

Capitulation wasn't something Sheba was particularly good at. It wasn't in her DNA, the results, she suspected, of generation after generation of stubborn, bovine-headed people breeding out anything other than, "Open fire! Full thrusters ahead!" It also wasn't exactly on the personality profile for a Colonial Warrior, except when occasionally dealing with a superior officer.

_Face it, Sheba, you usually don't let your emotions get in the way of the job. _She sniffed at that. _Yeah. Like with Cassie on the Gamoray mission. Totally professional._

As much as she was disinclined to admit it, Apollo was right. The whole episode of finding out her father was still alive had really messed with her mind. As Starbuck had been known to say, she was 'off her game'. And, oh, how she had clearly proven it when things had come to a head in the hangar of the asteroid base.

_ Hades Hole, girl! Where was your head? She wrinkled her features as she thought about that. Oh. Right._

Sheba ran through her final checks as the last of the mining crew boarded, trying to wipe that moment out of her mind when Apollo had stared at her in obvious anger and frustration, as everyone had scattered to complete the evacuation of the base when they realized the Life Support Systems were failing.

"Sheba, I want you to fly that shuttle out of here . .."

"Apollo, we've already talked about this. You're obviously not clear on what we discussed. I'm only going to do it if you _assure _me . . ."   
"_Lieutenant_, that's an order. I was still your commanding officer the last time I checked. This is not the appropriate time _or _place to discuss our personal relationship. Now haul astrum and get those people out of here before I put you on report. Is that _clear_ enough for you?"

It had been like a slap across the face, and she had merely stared dumbly at him, and then turned away in embarrassment as she felt angry tears fill her eyes. She refused to let him see the effect his words had had on her, especially when she realized she had taken things too far. Instead, she had muttered a brisk "Yes, Sir," and had paced towards the shuttle.

Now, she realized Apollo_ too _was under enormous pressures, what with concern about Starbuck and Luana, the failing reactor and possible radion leaks, and any number of other burdens, and she hadn't made it any easier on him by bringing up personal issues at an inappropriate time. He wasn't exactly known for losing his temper with his subordinates unless they damn well deserved it. The man really had to be pushed.

Like now.

All the same, once again he would ultimately be putting himself at risk and setting the main reactor to explode, running towards the hangar and the single remaining Viper that would carry him to safety beyond the uncalculated blast radius_. If_ he made it out in time.

Their relationship seemed to be a series of _if's_. Not exactly the way she had envisioned love when she was younger. A meeting, a series of intense emotions and moments building up to a first kiss, intense passion, and then 'happily ever after'.

_Ha!_

No, in reality love was as much work as anything else in life. It took real effort to sustain a relationship. She had had this discussion with Cassiopeia not long before the med tech had broken things off with Starbuck. For some reason, even good friends were reluctant to discuss it when they were going through a difficult time with their lover. It was akin to failure to admit that life with the most sought after bachelors in the Fleet wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

Yes, her and Cassiopeia had been the envy of single woman throughout the Fleet. The celebrated and much decorated Captain Apollo and Lieutenant Starbuck. The Gold Team. Heroes of Carillon, Arcta, Gamoray, and a dozen other missions. As Starbuck liked to say, "eaters of Base Ships for breakfast". Handsome, dashing, daring . . . every young woman's fantasy, and probably even a few slightly more mature lady's, truth be known.

Never single for long—apparently, about a centar was his post-pubescent record—Starbuck had moved on to Luana, at least for now. Meanwhile, Sheba and the Strike Captain were still on the same long and winding road, taking things slowly and cautiously, mainly at Apollo's insistence. It hadn't really been that long since Apollo had lost his wife, and Boxey had lost his mother. Neither was ready for the premature presence of another woman in the household. And so, Sheba patiently waited on the periphery of Apollo's life, trying to be understanding and supportive, vying for his time amidst his demands of duty, family, triad, and friends.

As she looked back on it, she reflected that she had matured a great deal since Cain and the Pegasus had left their mark on the Fleet and had disappeared in an intense flash of laser fire and a flurry of battle debris . . . as was his way. The young, determined, stubborn woman who had proudly held her head high at the mention of her revered father had learned a lot about humility, patience and life in general since meeting Apollo and his circle of friends. She had become a part of a larger extended family.

Fortunately, she had inherited an inner strength from both her parents. Though most people attributed her stronger qualities to her father, her mother wasn't exactly a shrinking viola, standing in the shadow of her husband all her life. Bethany had a resilience that couldn't be denied, almost single-handedly raising her daughter while Cain was away at war. She had made it look easy and had imparted her self-sufficient streak to her daughter, making Sheba wonder time and again exactly how her parents would have dealt with one another if the fiercely independent twosome had actually co-existed in the same dwelling fulltime. Lords, the fireworks would have been seen the Twelve Worlds over!

_Hades Hole, all the way to Cylon!_

Likely, that was why Bethany's slow, agonizing death had so devastated Cain. She had carefully orchestrated their lives so Cain could pop in on the all too rare furloughs, usually to be called back to duty prematurely, every person playing their part and knowing their role. She was his link to normalcy, and despite the fact that he was more comfortable in his military life, he could comfortably step into his position of father and husband, following her lead before the promise of danger and action would once again lure him back to the Front. People thought that Cain was the strong one, but Bethany's inner strength was the grounding force in their relationship. And when she had died, he had crumbled.

Apollo, on the other hand, could move between duty and fatherhood with an apparent ease that was oftentimes baffling. It was one of his qualities that Sheba quickly recognized and admired, especially after a lifetime of uncomfortable moments with her own father before she had joined the Service and had ended up fighting at his side. Apollo had many of Cain's characteristics—bravery, intelligence, honour, a tactical cunning—yet his sensitive and caring nature was really what had finally encouraged her to take the first step towards nurturing a loving relationship in the cockpit of a Cylon Raider so many sectars ago.

Yes, much like war, real love was vastly different from her youthful imaginings. And 'happily ever after' was really only the musings of romantic holovids and books, she concluded. But a future with Apollo was worth the hard work and heartbreak. At least she fervently wished it was so.

"Everything's nominal," said her co-pilot. "We're cleared for launch."

"Launch."

----------

Starbuck was watching Reece like a wild, hungry, predatory felix about to pounce as the other paced beside the biobed. The good thing was the lieutenant was wrapped in some kind of regenerating medical equipment, which, after surreptitious inspection, would probably keep him firmly affixed to the medical bed. Translation: Starbuck couldn't leap up and try to throttle the Security Officer after he admitted the position they had unwittingly maneuvered themselves into.

"What happened?" Starbuck demanded.

"I don't know how much Boomer told you about how we . . . interrogated Borka," Reece began, watching as the lieutenant's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but his face remained impassive.

"You already mentioned you were persuasive." Starbuck reminded him, not really caring about the details, considering Borka had almost killed Luana. Humanity was for the humane. Animals like Borka and Kaden were exempt.

"Look Starbuck, Borka was behaving nervously when we initially questioned him. He wouldn't crack though and Will had a feeling that we were running out of time if we were going to find Luana and Oriana. He has an innate sense for these things." Reece lowered his voice, looking briefly around him, ensuring no one was within earshot. "We sent in a team to work him over. They didn't hurt him much, the idea was to scare him into confessing, but still . . ."

Starbuck merely nodded. He had drawn his own conclusions already, and while he was a little surprised that Boomer was involved, he had heard that officers in the Caprica City Civil Security Forces, where Willem had honed his skills, had gone to some extreme measures to get the information they needed. "And?"

"Apparently, information gained under duress is inadmissible in a Tribunal," Reece admitted. _Sneered_ was more like it. He had little patience for legal niceties.

"What the frack does that mean?" Starbuck asked, his mind rebelling against all legal information thrust at him in a mental response to previous entanglements with Colonial Jurisprudence, once several sectars before when he had been charged with a fellow officer's murder, and again several yahrens ago when he had been charged with possession of narcotics for the intent to traffic while in the Academy. Of course, he was eventually exonerated of all charges, although both times he had had his doubts that he'd escape conviction for something he didn't do. Too often it seemed the law was designed to protect the criminals, not the innocent, at least in his all too relevant experience.

"Even though Borka admitted that Kaden terminated Oriana, as well as revealed that he left Luana welded up in a waste pipe to die, we can't submit that as evidence at Tribunal." Reece elaborated with disgust in his voice, watching the impassive features before him contort in anger. "Unless . . ."

"Unless what?" Starbuck demanded. No, he definitely didn't like this turn of events.

"The Chief Opposer, Solon wants Borka to implicate Kaden, since it was actually Kaden who terminated Oriana. Solon feels that Borka will accept a plea bargain for a reduced sentence."

"Now wait just a fracking centon! He_ almost _killed Lu! Look at her, Reece! Just look at her! He can't get off on some _reduced_ sentence." He spat the words at the Security Officer in derision, pulling inadvertently at the bio-sleeves and then huffing in annoyance as medical alarms began to ring, alerting the staff to displaced leads. "He should spend the rest of his life rotting on the Barge! Hades, if it was up to me, he'd be out an airlock!"

"Starbuck, other than his own inadmissible statement, we have very little else on him. Or Kaden. They're a professionals. They did everything right. No traceable evidence. No tracks. No prints. No DNA. No nothing. Now according to law, we don't even have enough evidence on either one of them to _convene_ Tribunal. Thankfully, they don't know that. After all, the only person whose testimony could possibly convict them can't even remember what happened. Do you really want them to put Luana on the stand the way she is?" Reece asked him, looking back at the sleeping young woman whose life had taken such a tragic turn. "Do you?"

"NO!" Starbuck snapped, gritting his teeth as Hinnus began reattaching medical leads, once again immobilizing him. The image of a bewildered Luana taking the stand at even a preliminary hearing as Kaden or Borka's Protector questioned her came too easily to mind. It would be overwhelming for the young woman, and absolutely pointless, except to determine that there was no concrete evidence with which to proceed to Tribunal.

Reece waited patiently for the med tech to finish and depart before continuing. "As you know, Colonial Law is very clear that we need to proceed within ten centars for a charge of willful termination. Our time is almost up if we're going to convict Kaden of killing Oriana. Borka is our only hope for that, Starbuck." Reece explained patiently, holding back his own disgust with a system that was designed to hasten convictions for the guilty, but in this case was instead likely to get Borka off the hook. Personally, he doubted that Borka would spill his guts for anything less than complete exoneration of all charges, but he wasn't about to share that information with the already volatile warrior.

"This is bovine mong! There has to be some evidence somewhere." Starbuck insisted. "What about Komma and the computer data?"

"I already told you, nothing so far. Corporal Komma thinks they inserted some kind of instantaneous virus or tapeworm program that obliterated the memory files on the hard drive before they trashed her quarters. He's still working on it though."

"Any evidence that they_ did _trash her quarters?" Starbuck asked.

"No. Just deductive reasoning. Not even enough to ask for a continuance before the hearing." Reece admitted. "Look, part of the problem is that the _Galactica_ left the Fleet which interfered with our investigation. Unfortunately, Colonial Jurisprudence doesn't make allowances for removing the investigators from the scene of the crime. The law was written for use in the colonies, and hasn't exactly been revisited to take into account that we're traveling through space in a convoy of ships, which our base ship can potentially leave in a moment of crisis, taking us with it." Reece ran a hand back through his hair, successfully making it stand on end on both sides, unbeknownst to him. "Castor is on the _Malocchio_ Freighter, but we can't even contact him due to communications silence. Having Borka turn states' evidence is our only chance to convict Kaden. And I do mean_ only_."

"But surely you can ask for a continuance based on the fact that the _Galactica_ leaving the Fleet impeded the investigation!" Starbuck argued. "_Someone_ must have seen _something_ on the _Malocchio_! What kind of justice is it if all the evidence isn't even presented at the hearing?"

"Lords, Starbuck, don't you think we tried?" Reece replied wearily. "Sire Solon was turned down. Sire Memnon was appointed Chief Magistrate, and he said he couldn't interrupt the age old traditions of Colonial Jurisprudence without sufficient reason, and the mere _possibility_ that there _might_ be more admissible evidence wasn't good enough for the old vapour bag. He needed something more concrete. We couldn't offer it to him."

"Memnon?" Starbuck asked, recalling that the frail old man who looked as though a strong breeze could knock him over, had been retired for several yahrens. "Why is he acting as Chief Magistrate?"

"Apparently, it isn't the first time he's done so since retirement. Why?" Reece shrugged. "I don't know. Probably because he used to be Chief Magistrate of the Colonial Supreme Tribunal. Besides, the Commander is too damn busy with whatever is going down on that asteroid, along with these new survivors you brought back with you. And obviously Memnon was aboard. That must be part of it."

"This is crazy. Why would Borka think_ he _needed to incriminate Kaden?" Starbuck shook his head. "He'd know that if you really had the evidence to convict either one of them, you wouldn't need his testimony to corroborate Lu's."

"Simple. Luana remembers that Borka tried to kill her, but her recall on the actual person who fired a laser shot at Oriana is sketchy." Reece shrugged. "At least that's what _he _believes. We also told Borka that Kaden is pointing the finger at him. He's scared. Fear motivates to a certain extent, especially when a life sentence on the Barge is looming."

"Frack . . . " Starbuck muttered. "I can't _believe_ this." He shook his head slowly. "Borka's going to get off . . ." He started to move a hand, but was once again limited by the bio-sleeves. His muscles tightened reflexively, and he appeared as though he would jump to his feet, tearing at all restraining equipment and howling his outrage, before he let out a few ragged breaths, reining in his emotions instead. "There _has_ to be _something_ we can do . . ."

"Look, Starbuck," Reece leaned in towards the warrior, feeling unexpected empathy as he watched blue eyes dart between the sleeping Luana and the medical gear that kept him secured to the biobed for the moment. "Borka will probably get a suspended sentence. Kaden _will _go to the Prison Barge. And Luana _won't_ have to take the stand. It's the best we can do under the circumstances."

"It's not frackin' good enough!" Starbuck spat out between clenched teeth. "I'm not going to let him get away with . . ."

"Easy there," Reece cautioned him. "Look, we knew you'd feel this way. I would too if I was you. Just remember what we talked about before. There_ has _to be someone behind them. Someone who actually_ ordered _the terminations. Someone who set you up for that whole triad scam that seemed to set all of this is motion. Borka and Kaden are minor players. We want their boss." He watched as the lieutenant paused, obviously considering his words, and surprise clearly on his features. Starbuck wasn't expecting Reece's support on this scale, this was obvious. But the Security Officer knew that the warrior's considerable energy and determination would be better harnessed as an ally, then as a vigilante. And working together had initially been Starbuck's idea. Just how that would work logistically they would still have to determine. "After Tribunal, and we get back to the Fleet, you can bet that'll be our focus. And if you were serious about having contacts who might know who Borka and Kaden are working for, then we'll get to the person who's orchestrating this whole scene. But I'm willing to bet it won't be easy."

"Nothing worth doing is easy, Reece." Starbuck murmured, his mind already racing ahead to his next move.

"So, are we actually going to work together on this?" Reece interrupted the warrior's contemplations. After a long history of mutual antagonism, he was as surprised as the warrior that they could even contemplate joining forces.

Starbuck slowly nodded, a slight smile touching his features. "How about together/ apart?"

Reece snorted, watching the lieutenant's smile stretch into a full-blown grin. "What the frack does that mean?"

Starbuck chuckled, recalling he had asked exactly the same question a centon before. "It means, Reece, that I have an idea . . ."

Reece winced. He had a feeling that he wasn't going to like this.

----------

"Report, Captain" Adama ordered of his son over the comm link from the Bridge of the _Galactica_. He hoped his voice didn't sound terse, but somehow his debriefing of the Earthmen had left him feeling unsettled.

"Commander, the first of the transport shuttles should be fully loaded and returning to the Galactica in ten centons," Apollo relayed. If he noticed the slight astringency in his father's tone, he gave no sign.

"And the Dynamos?"

"We were finally able to bypass the energy stabilization control mechanism and are ready to over-energize the Dynamos. However, the main reactor has become even more problematic since the Life Support Systems crashed. It's already shut down on us twice as we've prepared to blow the Dynamos, and the main storage batteries are draining fast just keeping the base's lights and gravity going. In fact, it's already starting to get cold in here."

"Apollo, with the unstable nature of the main reactor, you should evacuate all non-essential personnel before trying again." Adama ordered, noting Tigh's tight frown.

"Agreed, sir. Already happening. " In the background, Adama could hear the rumble of a shuttle's engines starting up. "It'll take at least that long before we get the main reactor fired up again anyway."

"Commander, we've just picked up . . . " Omega's voice trailed off and he began rechecking his readouts from where he sat at his station. "I don't understand, sir. It's gone."

"Omega?" Adama turned his attention from the comm link to regard the other man. Omega was frowning, as if feeling uncertain.

The bridge officer shook his head. "A random energy pattern that I couldn't identify, Commander. A wide-spectrum burst that washed across our scanners. Only there for an instant, and now it's gone." He poured over his console once again. "Can't be wrong," he muttered.

"Nothing on the scanners, Adama." Tigh inserted.

"Rigel? Could you run the scan through the BTD for me?" asked Omega. Rigel nodded, and returned to her instruments as Omega dumped the data to her station. As she did so, Adama moved to the main scanners. As Tigh had said, they were clear, showing nothing they weren't already aware of, or needed to worry about.

"Solar radion fluctuations?" Tigh asked Omega.

"No, sir. The sun in this system is a Gamma Type Two, and appears to be extremely stable. At this moment, it is at its sunspot minimum. Very quiet, Colonel."

"The _Pegasus_?" asked Tigh quietly, next to Adama.

"Omega?" asked Adama.

"It didn't read like a ship, Commander. Not Cylon. Certainly nothing like a Battlestar's power plant. Or a Viper's either."

"Could we have missed a pirate ship?" asked Tigh. They _thought _thatall the bad guys were accounted for, but the marauders hadn't exactly kept military rosters, and the folks they had rescued didn't look like the most truthful bunch in the universe.

"Not a ship, sir," said Rigel. "Buffered Telemetry Demodulator analysis shows that it resembles no machine or natural phenomenon known to us."

"Anything else?" asked Adama.

"No sir," replied Rigel. "I'll continue to run comparison scans, but that will take a while."

"Keep on it, Rigel. Apollo, still there?"

"Yes, Commander. The first shuttle is away, and should be docking in about eight centons. The second is on taxi."

"Good. Let me know the centon the reactor is powered back up, and the Dynamos are ready to blow."

"Yes, sir. Shouldn't be much longer. Apollo out."

----------

It was eerily quiet, save for the low vibration of the ship's engines, unlike the corridors of most military vessels that Dayton had been on, since most of the Colonial Warriors were either on the asteroid base, or flying escort for the temporarily abandoned Fleet. Dayton just kept walking, preferring pacing the near empty corridors to being alone with his thoughts in their newly assigned quarters on the crew deck. Quarters he was sure were bugged.

He couldn't get Ryan's words out of his mind. He shook his head angrily, deciding that the other had hit below the belt when he had abandoned all attempts at rational debate and had taken it to a purely emotional level.

_What do you think Yvonne would say if you told her you were 'honouring her memory' by planning the . . _. _wholesale_ _murder of these people?_

She would have been horrified.

But then, the Mark Dayton who had launched thirty years ago for the International Space Station was a different man than the one who had now decided the fate of the Colonial Race. Earth's history had certainly bespoken the cruelty, the savagery, the utter depravity which mankind was capable of inflicting on his fellow beings, but actually existing and surviving within that environment under Torg's brutality couldn't help but affect a man.

Like the horrors of war.

_Seems to me that if I can't believe in you anymore, then there's nothing left in this goddamned existence to believe in._

That had been like an abrupt and unexpected blow to his gut.

For all the arguments, debates, disagreements and general spats that he and Ryan had had over the years, somewhere along the line, the man's personal opinion had started to matter. Not so much his opinion on religion, politics, ethics, the damned metric system, or social structure—after all the man _was _a Canadian—but more so the fact that when Dayton looked at the other he could see respect in Paddy Ryan's eyes.

For all their differences, they liked and respected one another. They had, in fact, become the closest of friends. Even closer than brothers, and Dayton knew that from bitter experience with his own. And for the very first time in thirty years, despite all that they had been through, all the horrors they had survived, like some never-ending POW camp, he could _palpate_ the shock, disgust, disappointment, and disillusionment coming from Ryan. Disillusionment was something he hadn't thought Ryan capable of—the man had an unbelievable, almost gruesome penchant for maintaining a humorous outlook, even in the most dour of circumstances—and that disillusionment was directly attributable to him. It had made him step back from the moment and take a second look.

"You respect him too much to not value his opinion, Mark."

Dayton swung around at the words, but the empty corridor mocked him. "Who's there?" He rasped, again looking up and down the corridor. The words had been spoken in English, but not by any voice that he was familiar with.

Abruptly, his clothing changed to the strangest shade of white, as if someone had doused him in bleach-filled water and thoroughly rolled him in all-purpose flour. A brilliant, glistering white, as if its whiteness came more from within, than from the mere colour of the fabric. A man was standing before him, his arm outstretched as though he had just tapped him on the shoulder, though he had felt nothing. He jumped back as the man opened his hand, as if to show he wasn't armed, and stated in a dignified voice, reminiscent of an English accent on Earth, "And now you can see me. And remember."

It was if he was swept by a hurricane of memory back to his childhood. Nine years old and full of energy. Intent on the recovery of his Mike Bossy hockey card, just after the New York Islanders had won an unprecedented third consecutive Stanley Cup victory in the 1981-82 season. He could still feel the way the wind had suddenly whipped in off Lake Michigan, tearing it from his hand, sending it flying onto Lake Shore Drive in Chicago.

In that impulsive nature usually reserved for even younger children, Dayton hadn't even thought twice about the traffic, rushing towards his lost treasure. All he could see was his prized hockey card, flittering in the wind, taunting him and managing to stay just beyond the reach of his fingertips. Then the blaring of horns, screaming of a woman, screeching of brakes, and the crash of metal on metal . . . and darkness.

The next thing he remembered, his mother was rolling him over, nearly hysterical, pleading with God and anyone else listening that her son wouldn't be taken from her.

Intense sobs wracked her body, even as she finally realized her son seemed to be uninjured.

"It's a miracle," she had continued to weep as a crowd gathered around them, her sobs at last ebbing as she pulled him to her, squeezing him so tightly that he was sure she would crush his ribcage. Then she had gently pulled him from her, her watery eyes traveling over him to assure herself that he was indeed undamaged, and not just some figment of her imagination. And then suddenly . . .

"What were you thinking? Running out in traffic? You could have been killed!" She had yanked him to his feet so fast it had made him momentarily dizzy. "If you ever do that again, Mark Alexander Dayton, you'll be grounded so long . . ."

The rest was a bit of a blur, but he still recalled that sensation of something in his hand as she screamed shrilly, all onlookers nodding their agreement and encouragement at the ritual, except for one standing apart from the others. Dayton had then opened his fist to find his treasured Mark Bossy hockey card . . . though how he had ever retrieved it he couldn't recall.

His gaze, he remembered then, had been drawn to that lone man. Enveloped in white, from his hair to his toes, and smiling his support only once before turning away and simply disappearing before the young boy's eyes. At that moment, he had thought it was his imagination playing tricks on him. And indeed, he had never been able to put a face to the image again.

But now, with an assurance he couldn't rationalize, he realized that the same man was standing before him.

"Y. . . you?"


	65. Chapter 65

At times like this, when there seemed to be more questions than answers, and reassurance was only to be found in prayer—as she had suggested to Starbuck—Ama knew it was time to stop bumbling about aimlessly at her goddaughter's side and seek solace. As far as she was concerned, there was only one place on the _Galactica_ that she could do that.

Starbuck had brought her to the Celestial Dome some sectars ago. Strangely the young man—who seemed to spend so little time on his own spiritual development as if it was of little consequence to him—had known that the Empyrean Necromancer who had worshipped in the open air and beneath the stars of her home world for over eighty yahrens would consider the chamber a sacred place.

Still it was with a slightly jaundiced eye that she considered the electronic equipment that allowed her to open up the dome to the infiniteness of the heavens, which each and every time made her feel like a tiny bud, nurtured by the special glow of omnipresence until she bloomed into her own spiritual fulfillment.

Standing erect with arms outreached, and her face tilted upwards, she basked in the light of divinity, forgetting where she was and no longer even hearing the noise from the monitoring station that Starbuck had once shown her. Her mind emptied of her troubles even as her spirit was replenished, and the healing force crept into every cell of her physical being, making her both swell with transcendent energy and simultaneously recognize that she was a mere speck of insignificance within the dominion of the Almighty.

Her skin seemed to tingle as if every fiber of her being was alive and she was but a conduit of the eternal beauty, power and presence that both surrounded her and flowed through her. It was pure rapture, but was also recognized and treasured as a precious gift

Then she gasped as the glow of Elysium was abruptly snuffed out, like the fragile flame of a candle. A shiver passed through her, as a coldness infiltrated her spirit, freezing it within an immuring wall of evil. A malevolent presence seemed intent on crushing her from within and she cried aloud at the suddenness of the attack, collapsing to her knees.

"NO!" she howled, her arms again outstretched and her spirit seeking guidance and strength against this force of enmity. She gasped for breath, as she steeled herself against the malignant energy that swelled outward as if it could infuse and then eclipse her own self, and possess her very soul.

Her breathing ceased, choked off by the numbing presence, but she refused to succumb. Instead she reached outward from her core of existence, surrendering to her faith and love, secure in the knowledge that she was in Hand of God.

A mere flicker from within slowly grew into a triumphant burst of light, again suffusing her physically and spiritually. And as abruptly as it had appeared, the vile presence was gone.

----------

"Ignite, damn you, ignite!" growled Boomer, as he pressed the button on the control console for the main reactor. The laser array around the reactor vessel flickered, hummed, and then fitfully flared to life. He held his thumb in it for a few extra millicentons as the indicators rose, then cautiously let go. The lasers continued to fire, and the vessel began to glow. He held his breath a few more moments, but it seemed that the reactor would stay on-line this time.

"Got it!" said Volk, next to him, and the two grinned victoriously as their ongoing efforts finally paid off.

"We're ready to go on this end," Boomer told the captain as Apollo entered the control room of the pirate's base. "Volk has been able to stabilize the main reactor by slowing down the fuel injection rate, to more precisely match the laser pulses and magnetic field pulse rate. I doubt this piece of junk's been in this good a shape for yahrens. That and we sealed several weak spots in the cooling system as well. That should prevent the meltdown that we were concerned about."

"Should?" Apollo asked.

"Usually, the inner shell for the reactor would only spend about three yahrens inside of it and then get replaced. The old one would be moved to a special pool to essentially 'cool' off so it could be recycled for further usage. In this case, the slackers just left the old shell in place, never replacing it. It's part of the reason for the reactor's decreasing stability. They tried to suck every bit of use out of it, instead of following a safety policy of making sure the shell is replaced, and then allowed to become radioactively cool enough to handle before reprocessing it." Volk explained. "Talk about taking your life in your hands!" He shook his head.

"Sounds like a ticking time bomb." Apollo replied.

"It very well could be, Captain. Early fusion reactors like this often were, without exacting maintenance. It's ironic that we arrived when we did, because I'm certain that the Life Support systems failing would have meant certain death for these people—our officers, all the prisoners, and those women and children included—unless the pirates are able to work miracles with this . . ." he turned his nose up at the control panel, " _eolith_ . . . which I doubt." Volk paused. "The rest of this pile of junk had . . . oh, maybe a yahren left in it. I'm actually surprised it didn't blow ages ago. Sir, you might want to reconsider taking the extra time to remotely rig this baby so we can blow her away from our Base Ship."

"How long would that take?"

Volk sighed. "Another day." He could see the captain's frown of disappointment as the words left his mouth. "It's just so damn archaic! I've had to tribunal rig almost everything we've done to her so far, sir. Half these instruments are out of my equipment bag. A remote system would be the same. I'd have to build it circuit by circuit to interface with this superannuated piece of felgercarb that they used to power this place. It's on its last legs, sir, and they're spindly, tired_ and _fractured."

"We just don't have the time. The last of the shuttles is preparing to leave. Volk, you need to be on it. Boomer, you go with him and make sure the _Galactica_ knows we're ready to destroy the Dynamos. We never did establish a strong enough signal to transmit from the control room."

"Believe it or not, it has a high density metal shielding it, almost acting like a blast shelter around this place." Boomer told him.

"Cozy." Apollo smiled weakly. "I want everyone off this base before I trigger the Dynamos.

"Except you and I." The lieutenant reminded him with a frown. "I'll be back to give you the final word from the Commander."

"I'm still not blowing the Dynamos and setting the main reactor on overload until you're safely out of here, buddy." Apollo informed him.

"You should have back up." Boomer argued. "Just in case something goes wrong."

"Hades Hole, Boomer, you're starting to sound like Sheba . . ." he grimaced, not meaning to say the words aloud. He rubbed his eyes wearily and shook his head at his indiscretion.

Boomer regarded him for a moment. "Well, then that's a sure sign you should listen more carefully to the lady," he returned with the shadow of a smile. "Because we're both right. And I'd just like to point out that I'm_ neither _distracted by a family member's unexpected reappearance _nor_ affected by a sectarly hormonal fluctuation."

"Boomer . . ." Apollo somehow managed to inflect the same tone into his voice which he used with Boxey, just before he entered "you've pushed me too far" parent-mode. Actually, now that he thought about it, he was known to use that tone with Starbuck as well on occasion.

Not that it ever did much good.

"I'll just see off Volk and make sure everyone else is evacuated." Boomer raised his hands innocently, backing towards the doorway, and putting an abrupt end to his poignant but brief defense of Sheba. "See you shortly." The lieutenant concluded, considering the weary captain with a certain amount of concern as he turned to follow the technician to the hangar.

"Right." Apollo breathed, settling into the high back chair that looked as though it had been pulled from the cockpit of some scavenged space craft, possibly even the Earth Shuttle. He could feel his body meld with the split fabric as he sunk into the deep padding and awaited the final orders. He closed his eyes, letting his exhausted body and mind shut down for a glorious few centons.

It had been a grueling couple days. He felt like a taut wire about to snap as his mind replayed the series of events since the Empyrean Conflict had occurred. Lords, it seemed ages ago, but it was only—he glanced at his chronometer—_Starbuck had disappeared the day before, so the Conflict was the night before that . . ._ He sighed, realizing just how long it had been since he had had some sleep. Apollo drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to ease some of the tension that had gathered behind his left shoulder blade and had wound its way up into his neck. He kneaded his neck, again trying to relax the tightened muscles, knowing he should once again look over Volk's calculations, but his relaxed frame refused to move towards the datapad which he knew lay abandoned on the console.

A strange urge to just press the damned button and end the whole episode suddenly entered his mind.It had gone on way too long already. _Just get it over with and get back to the Galactica. Forget the fracking 'procedure' and get your astrum into your bunk. _

He startled, sitting erect and cautiously looking about. A strange sense of impending doom had settled around him, as though the 'cozy' walls of the control room were closing in on him and his only escape was the hastily rigged red button in front of him.

He jumped to his feet, pacing around the room and shaking off the almost claustrophobic sensation as he walked back to the console and retrieved the datapad. He needed to get back to the job at hand and recheck the calculations and modifications that Volk had made. Lords, but he wished this day was over.

----------

They had regeneration treatments to hyper-stimulate the natural granulation of the human tissue, they had bone menders to accelerate the normal healing of human bone, so why—_why in Hades Hole_, did they not have snooze enhancers to make it feel as though one or two centars of sleep was as good as a solid eight or nine?

Yep, that was all he was lacking. And that_ had _to be why Starbuck's bones seemed to creak and his muscles to ache while he pulled on his clean uniform as he prepared to leave the Life Station. _Nope, can't have anything to do with the_ _human meat tenderizer that Bex and Torg put you through down on the asteroid base._

"Starbuck?"

Her voice was subdued and he almost felt guilty as he stepped out of the cubicle, still pulling on his tunic, and strode to Luana's side. "You're awake." The words were redundant he knew, but he still wasn't expecting her to rouse before he left.

"I have been . . . for quite a while." She replied, her eyes locked on his.

He wasn't certain if she was still struggling with her words, or if she was merely taking her time to formulate the sentence. Every treatment brought such miraculous improvements that he was completely overwhelmed by her progress. "I've been discharged. I have to report to the Commander."

"I heard you talking with Reece. Don't do anything stupid."

He raised his eyebrows in mock surprise, assuming an innocent air. "Me? Stupid?"

She raised herself on her elbow and grabbed his tunic, pulling him close. "I know that there's a lot I can't remember, and I know there's a lot more that you haven't told me—like why you look like several depths of Hades Hole after coming back from your patrol, for instance—but don't treat me like I'm deranged or demented just because I took a knock on my head."

Her strength surprised him as he rocked forward on the balls of his feet, his uniform firmly in her grip, and then abruptly stumbled back as she released him. Starbuck regained his balance in an instant, and studied her for a moment before grabbing a chair and pulling it up to her biobed. He straddled it and sat so that they were almost nose to nose. "Is that what you think I'm doing?"

She nodded, holding his gaze unflinchingly.

Starbuck sighed, gently cupping her chin as he lightly stroked her cheek with his thumb. "I just want you to focus on getting better. I don't want you worrying about me."

"Equus mong."

"Lu . . ." he started, but she grabbed him behind the neck and cut off his words with a tender kiss. He closed his eyes briefly as an array of tangled emotions hit him and he tried to gather his thoughts. This time it was her hand cupping his chin and coaxing it up to look at her. He met her gaze, her brown eyes looking into his as though she could see right through him and knew every façade he had ever worn. He blinked.

"I'm going to tell you this because I don't want you to think you're fooling me, Starbuck. I may be inexperienced with men and relationships, but I know _you_ better than I know myself." She paused for effect, her features alight with mischief. "After all, there's a group of women that meet every secton-end to discuss your character flaws."

"Cute," he returned, a wan smile on his face as he leaned back from her touch. Between Cassiopeia, Sheba, Athena, Ama and even Luana, he'd been sufficiently and repeatedly debriefed enough times on his shortcomings in the last few sectars to almost believe they'd formed a club for their own amusement.

"I know Borka is going to get off without a sentence. I also know that you're going to go after him, and whoever he's working for. It's not worth it, Starbuck. Just let it go."

Starbuck nodded at her words, simply because he'd expected them. Lords, she was probably scared to death that he too would get himself in trouble. The difference was, he'd met men far worse than Borka and Kaden, and far more dangerous. Heck, the matron in his orphanage packed a more powerful wallop than either goon, though he wasn't about to explain all that to the young woman before him.

Luana sniffed, blinking a few times while she studied his bruised and battered features. He leaned back in the chair attempting to hide his thoughts from her, but as usual she could read them as clearly as her sister's, she knew him so well. "I also know that you're going to ignore everything I just said, and go ahead and do it anyway," she whispered quietly. "Because you think you need to avenge me . . . as well as your own pride to a certain extent."

"This has nothing to do with pride, Lu," he protested, affronted that she would think so.

"Of course it does, Starbuck," she replied, a knowing smile on her face. "I think I know what motivates you by now."

The wicked grin that crossed her face immediately brought him back to a couple recent trysts in the Fitness Center Equipment Room. He couldn't help but return the smile, feeling a bit like her quarry . . . though admittedly he was far more willing. "Then you're not . . . ?"

"Angry?" she asked.

He shrugged in reply, knowing that agreeing could be perilous . . . at least it had been in the past.

"As I said before, I want you to know that I realize what you're up to. You can't dupe me, Starbuck."

"I wasn't trying to dupe . . ."

"Not intentionally. No." She shrugged, rubbing her eyes wearily. As much as she hated to let him see it, the effort of the conversation was showing. "You're used to running your own show and not checking with anyone else about what you intend to do next. It doesn't even occur to you."

His lips tightened slightly. "I have a feeling Commander Adama is about to say the same thing to me."

"He's debriefing you now?" she asked.

"I'm not sure. I think so. All I know is I was ordered to the Bridge on my release from the Life Station. I kind of thought I'd have a bit more of a reprieve before he dressed me down."

"For?"

He checked his chronometer. "Not waiting for orders." He looked up at her again. "I, uh . . . I'm not sure what you're trying to say. You said you're not angry, but . . ."

"I'm not. But you had better not keep me out of this, or I will be. After all, the more we discuss the events, the more likely my memory is to return. Dr. Paye told you so. Right?"

He nodded reluctantly. Part of him wished he could keep her protected from it all, and as convenient as it would be for her to simply remember everything that had happened, he was also aware that the mental barriers that were keeping the memories from her could be very well doing it for a damn good reason. "Right."

"Don't shut me out, Starbuck," she warned him, her temper flaring at his monotone answer. "I don't need to be protected. I need to get through this, and if you're going after Borka and his boss, then part of my therapy is going to be seeing this through to the end."

"Damn, Lu. You're not up for that!" he returned, his own ire raised at her porcine-headedness. He jumped to his feet in frustration, his hands briefly resting on his waist before one brushed his hair back from his eyes.

"Yeah, well, you don't exactly look like the Warrior of the Centar yourself," she returned, but her voice softened as a slight wince crossed his face, his body betraying what her flippant words had so blatantly pointed out. She reached out for his hand. "Come here."

He let out a breath, and crossed to her side, taking her hand in his and raising it to his lips. "The doctors said you need to rest, Lu. And therapy."

"They said the same to you," she pointed out.

He shook his head, a slight smile on his face. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Listen to me. Trust me. Love me."

He realized then that despite all the considerable thinking he had done about it, that he had never actually said the words to her. "I already do, Lu. I already do."

On the other hand, it wasn't good to rush into these things.

----------

"This is impossible . . ." Dayton murmured as he shook his head in denial and closed his eyes, stepping back from the man who had evaded his memory each time he had subsequently remembered that childhood incident. What he had never forgotten was an almost intangible and inexplicable feeling of lightness and security in that moment that he had gazed on the mysterious man who, in his mind's eye, had faded and evolved to a shimmering light over the years. But now that fleeting and elusive retrospection seemed to sharpen around the edges, almost like an out-of-focus camera that had been finely adjusted, until the blur of his remembrance took substantial shape before him once again.

"I assure you," the same voice said, "this _is_ real. Just open your eyes and see for yourself."

Dayton felt slightly abashed as he complied with the request. "Who are you?" he asked, taking a step forward and reaching out, but then pulling back his hand, feeling suddenly disrespectful. "_What_ are you?"

"In your heart, I believe you already know." The man replied with a smile. "For the sake of expediency, you can call me John."

"John?" Dayton asked. "_Just _. . . John?"

"Yes, 'John' will do nicely." He replied calmly. "Now we haven't much time." He paused and looked towards the ceiling, frowning slightly, "Why must it always come down to the last few moments? You'd think we could do better?"

"Uh . . ." Dayton followed his glance, at once taken back to the character of Clarence in the old Jimmy Stewart classic, _It's a Wonderful Life._ "This can't be happening . . ."

"But it is." John assured him again. "Now I'd hate to think we've brought you all this way for you to just simply blow them all to Smithereens. Your friend is right. You're not exactly thinking rationally. You know that, don't you?" John asked him sternly, yet somehow never losing his avuncular smile.

"How could you know . . .?" Dayton sputtered out, but then realized that if this man was what he truly thought, he would know . . . everything. He shook his head again, absolutely shaken to the core that he could be standing in the presence of this ethereal being, and rooted to the spot as if stricken dumb by his mere presence.

"I must say, for an even more primitive being, you're much easier to get my point across to than your Colonial bothers." John told him with an encouraging smile. No sarcastic remarks, no threats to 'walk right through' him. It was a welcome change really.

"Brothers?" Dayton asked, still feeling a bit like someone should put him on a stool in a corner and stick a dunce cap on his head.

"We are_ all _brothers, Mark. Surely you understand that?" John asked.

Dayton nodded dumbly, cursing himself for his seeming inability to pull it all together at this most awe inspiring moment. "You said . . . you brought me all this way . . .? You mean from Earth?"

John sighed, "Well, perhaps I should say I meant it more figuratively than physically. Actually, we are not permitted to interfere." He wrinkled his nose in distaste at that, again looking upward.

"I don't understand." Dayton mumbled, trying to put it all together. "But . . . wasn't it _you_ who prevented me from being killed that day . . .?" Again, his mind was swept back to Lake Shore Drive in Chicago and that damn hockey card. "I always thought that someone was looking out for me then . . . but if you can't interfere . . ."

"Well, there _are_ guidelines about these things. They are, as a matter of fact, terribly complicated, and you wouldn't understand them all. No, I do not mean you lack the intelligence. I'm just not certain I have the time to explain, or if I could even make myself understood completely within the limited knowledge base of your people." Again John looked upward. "Well, alright," he glanced back at Dayton, "but I'll have to be brief."

Dayton nodded.

"You were destined to be here, Mark. You and your men. You will be the perfect choice as an envoy to Earth when the Colonials finally arrive. There is one who has tried to twist that fate to manipulate your chosen path. When the forces of darkness and evil intervene, so may we."

"You're saying . . . that some_ evil force _made me chase that hockey card into traffic?" Dayton mused, his mind racing, though it seemed like something crazy out of a comic book plot.

"Exactly." John looked grim for a moment. "As . . . melodramatic as it may sound, Mark, that is the case. He will stop at nothing to use his powers to destroy Mankind. And I do mean nothing. Were it not for the limits to his actions put upon him by powers ever greater than we, he would long ago have annihilated your planet, and all life upon it, down to the lowliest bacteria. As he has sought to do to the Colonials."

"The Devil?" Dayton asked. Try as he might, he could not help but conjure an image of someone in a red suit with a pitchfork and pointy beard.

"That is certainly one of his identities." John agreed. "He is known throughout the universe by many names."

"But I thought the Devil was . . . of _our _world . . ."

"Unfortunately, evil is universal, as is goodness and truth."

Dayton nodded, thinking of the Hell that was the pirate base. If any place exemplified the evil that intelligent beings were capable of . . .

"Exactly." John nodded.

"And now?" Dayton asked, certain that this gentrified stranger was reading his mind. "You're saying I'm being influenced by a force of darkness now?"

"Not exactly. Certainly not in person, though the thoughts he has from time to time planted in your mind, like seeds, produce a crop. I'm saying your experiences over the last thirty years at the hand of Torg and Bex has influenced you in that direction, something he has striven for. We had hoped that you could transcend that with the support of your friends."

Dayton closed his eyes in shame, feeling as though he had just disappointed God Almighty himself. "Jesus Chr. . ." he bit his lip, wincing apologetically at his slip, "sorry."

"No harm done. Yet." John reassured him.

"Wait!" His heart felt as though it was about to leap out of his chest. "Are you saying it's true? That the Colonials are meant . . . destined to find Earth? That wasn't just a load of horse . . . ?"

John paused for a moment, as if hesitating to answer. He squared his jaw almost rebelliously and replied, "It's true. There is much your people can still learn from them. The thirteenth tribe certainly made an impact, at a crucial point, but there is still so much more . . ."

"Then the pyramids we saw . . . the people who left . . . uh, Kobol . . . they did make it to Earth? It wasn't a coincidence?"

John simply smiled. "I'm afraid we're running out of time, Mark. You must make a decision. If you don't get yourself to the Bridge to stop them from over-energizing the Dynamos, then the _Galactica_ will be destroyed in the subsequent blast. That may very well portent the destruction of all humanity."

"Can't _you_ stop the Dynamos? Turn them off, somehow?"

John seemed to consider him for a moment with a mixture of sympathy and extreme patience, such as one spares for a thick-headed child who repeatedly misses the point of a lesson. "I told you. What I, what _we_, may do is circumscribed in various and complex ways. This is something which Mark Dayton and _only_ Mark Dayton can do. It is why you are here. You have to make this decision and set things right. Otherwise, the flight of these people from their Colonies will all have been for nothing, and your own people will suffer as a result."

"How? How could destroying _this_ Race of Man affect Earth? That doesn't make sense to me, in fact, I see it the other way around. If they lead these Cylons to Earth, that could spell the end for my people."

John shook his head, replying briskly, "These people have already stopped the Destruction of a world called Terra. . ." he paused, as if interrupted, "I know, I know," he spoke aside.

Again some of Ryan's words came back to Dayton. "_You know, with the state of things when we left, the people of Earth might very well have blown themselves to Smithereens." _Then again, perhaps they hadn't yet, but were still going to. Maybe that's what these Colonials through the guidance of these ethereal beings were going to prevent. Is that why John mentioned this incident with a world so similarly named?

"_Now_, Mark. You have to go _now _if you're going to stop this madness." John directed him.

Dayton nodded, turning towards the nearest elevator, hoping he could remember his way back to the Bridge. He paused as he got his bearings. "One more thing, do you think you could stop by the Officer's Club and visit Paddy Ryan? I'd love to see his face when you. . . "

"What makes you think I haven't already done so in his lifetime?" John replied with a curious smile, before raising a hand and disappearing into thin, recycled air.

----------

"Commander, Lieutenant Boomer on the commlink, Sir." Omega informed him.

"Put him through."

"Commander, the main reactor is stable for the moment, the base is evacuated save Captain Apollo and myself, and we're ready to overenergize and blow the Dynamos."

Adama couldn't really explain it, but a_ bad feeling _was looming over this operation that he just couldn't make sense of. "What's the situation with the Life Support Systems, Boomer?"

"The air is getting a bit thin and foul, Sir . . . but now with the reactor up and running again, not to mention stable, it's actually warming up a bit. Of course, the smell, well, the difference is barely detectable from when the original occupants were here. The temperature had really dropped too, but aside from that, we still have enough time to complete our mission."

"Make sure you bring Life Masks when you return to the control room."

"Yes, Sir."

"And Boomer . . ."

"Sir?"

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell him to stick with his wing leader, but when his men were in the field, he knew how important it was for the Strike Captain to have the final word. "Stay alert."

A slight hesitation as the warrior weighed the unexpected words, barely detecting his commanding officer's underlying anxiety. That, more than anything else, put his body and mind on Red Alert. "Yes, Sir, I will. Lieutenant Boomer out."


	66. Chapter 66

It was time to face the Commander.

Oh, he _knew_ it was inevitable, and it had lurked at the back of his mind since he had made the rash decision to find out just _who_ or _what_ had disabled Apollo's ship, and had then proceeded to leave communications range before waiting for orders from Commander Adama. Bad decision! Though in retrospect, he'd probably do it again. But even though Starbuck was a man who had once inferred that delaying the inevitable was against his nature, he was sorely tempted to push each and every button in the ascending row that he was eying in the lift, as it took him closer and closer to his fate on the Bridge.

Or his doom.

His finger hovered above the buttons, lightly touching the controls, a quirky smile on his face, as he contemplated taking the scenic route. Fleetingly, he recalled the controls in the elevator on Carillon. _The Commander would never know. No harm done. _

Then inexplicably, the lift lurched forward and he threw his hands in front of him reflexively as he stumbled, hitting the control panel, a myriad of buttons lighting up in response.

"What the frack . . . ?" He steadied himself with a hand on the doors, his stance broadening to stabilize himself against the next jolt. _An attack?_ _Hades Hole! They found us? Those Cylon . . ._

But instead, the lift opened on the next level, revealing a skirmish in the corridor. Before he could get an idea of what was happening, the back of a man was flying towards him, and he instinctively caught the victim beneath the arms, staggering back beneath the force.

Wild, incoherent yells filled the corridor from one of the other two combatants, and Starbuck realized in a milli-centon that the man was Dayton. He abruptly dropped the Blackshirt he was supporting and leapt forward as Dayton straddled the other Security Officer, looking as though he was going to pummel him. From the red stains on his fingers, and the Blackshirt's face, it seemed as if he'd already gotten started.

But what Dayton didn't see was the Colonial Blaster being drawn from his victim's holster and pointed at him. Starbuck threw himself toward the NASA Commander, knocking him off the Blackshirt a milli-centon before the weapon discharged, and landing on top of him.

The Earthman was out of control.

A growl of fury spewed from Dayton as he pushed himself up from the deck. Starbuck could feel the weight beneath him shift slightly and then suddenly the man had a hold of his hair and was attempting to jerk it out by the roots. The yelp of pain that spontaneously cleared his lips sounded pathetic even to him.

He reflexively clawed at the hand, his neck wrenching painfully as he was pulled forward, and then flipped onto his back, knocking the breath from him. He gazed up into crazed, grey eyes that glared balefully at him for a moment before suddenly widening in recognition.

"Starbuck . . .?" Dayton sputtered.

----------

Ama brushed past Med Tech Hinnus as she hurried into the Life Station. Her eyes quickly scanned the room as she approached her Goddaughter. Luana appeared about to drop off to sleep. "Where's Starbuck?"

The abrupt question startled the young woman awake. "Huh? Starbuck?" she asked, blearily looking about her for a micron before focusing on the Imperial Necromancer.

"Yes, dear girl. Starbuck. Where is he?" Ama asked her again as she gripped her hand, quickly assessing the ensign visually and otherwise, and noting with satisfaction that she could detect less confusion and anxiety clouding Luana's thoughts, despite her bleary state.

"He went to the Bridge." She ran her hands over her face, and blinked several times. "The . . . ah, the Commander needed to debrief him."

"Adama summoned him?" Ama asked.

"Yes." Luana replied, sitting erect as she noticed her Godmother fingering her Empyrean Talisman. "What's going on?"

"I wish I knew for certain, girl." For some tenuous reason, Adama sending for Starbuck at this moment reassured her. "I sensed an evil presence, much stronger than I have ever detected before. Vile. Malignant beyond words."

"Ama . . ." Luana growled as that familiar sense of discomfort hit her when people talked of strange happenings of the spiritual realm that she couldn't relate to, never mind actually believe. She twisted automatically, feeling the familiar presence of her sister as she hurried into the Life Station. "Lia, what are you . . .?"

"Ama, I was in the chapel and I felt . . ." The words tapered off and a lump formed in her throat as she recognized that certain _look_ in the old woman's eyes. It had hit her like a thunderbolt. One moment lost in prayer, and the next overcome by a sensation of evil like she had never known.

"You felt it too." Ama nodded, not surprised by Lia's admission. She had always known the successor to the Empyrean throne was blessed with certain talents. If only she had chosen to nurture them instead of focusing on becoming a statesman in her earlier life, and a Colonial Warrior more recently.

"Where's Starbuck?" Lia asked in agitation, looking around. "I thought we agreed we wouldn't leave Lu alone."

"I believe that our savior has a higher calling right now." Ama put a comforting hand on the young woman's shoulder.

"What are you saying, Ama?" Luana asked, looking between the Necromancer and her sister, both holding tightly to their amulets.

"Not only did I sense an evil presence, but another one as well. It was one of overwhelming beauty and light. Ultimately, they will do battle here again today as they have for all of eternity. I believe we all have our part to play and that only fate knows the outcome. Still, we must do all we can to help." She pulled out her small Empyrean blade, meant for the ritualistic spilling of blood to give strength to their prayers and to please the Empyreans' historical protector, the Goddess Triquetra.

Luana watched Ama knick her finger, a tiny drop of blood falling onto the necromancer's sacred Empyrean Talisman. The ensign wished she could rely on her skills as a warrior, her blaster strapped to her thigh and her man at her side, instead of falling back on the somewhat questionable and nebulous traditions of her Godmother. She quietly, but wryly, murmured, "Lords, give us strength."

"Exactly," Ama nodded at the young woman, either not detecting the note of skepticism or refusing to acknowledge it, and took Luana and Lia's hand in her own. She nodded her approval as Lia took her sister's hand, completing the triune. Ama drew in a deep breath, feeling the mana flow through her body as the unification of three Empyrean Talismans invoked and fortified the great powers of the Goddess Triquetra; maiden, mother and crone to the Empyrean People. "Oh, Mother . . ."

----------

"It's a go." Boomer told Apollo as he entered the control room of the asteroid base.

The captain nodded from where he sat. "Good. You head back to your ship. I'm giving you ten centons to launch and then I'll overload the Dynamos."

"Or we could just do it now," Boomer replied, tossing his friend a life mask. "Blow the Dynamos, _then_ set the main reactor to over-energize and self-destruct, blowing this place to Hades Hole. We could be back on the _Galactica _in ten centons and heading for the Rejuvenation Center. Remember, you and Boxey owe me a rematch at Seven-Eleven. I need to regain my place as rightful holder of the Mushie Cup."

Apollo hesitated, liking the sound of that. His son had been on his mind since he had sat alone while waiting for the final word from the Commander. He pulled the life mask on over his head, letting it dangle against his chest. "Boomer, I don't really have a good reason, but I think . . ." He shrugged. "I need to do this alone."

Boomer considered him for a moment, slowly walking around the confined space. "You and Boxey are far to attached to that trophy, if you ask me," Apollo looked up at him. "Okay. Sorry. Something about this just doesn't feel right, does it? Even the Commander seemed . . . I don't know . . . on edge."

Apollo looked up at that. "He did?"

"Yeah. He told me to stay alert. _Me._"

Apollo smiled faintly. "I see what you mean."

"I'm serious. I just have this feeling that we're being led down the garden path . . ."

"Right into the mong heap."

"Exactly. Are we missing something?"

Apollo picked up Volk's datapad once again. "I've checked these figures over twice. I even uplinked with the computer in the shuttle earlier, and had it crunch the numbers. It all seems to come out right."

"And?" Boomer reached out, and took the pad. He perused the calculations on the screen once again, having looked them over repeatedly while helping Volk. "Looks okay."

"It seems okay, yeah, but it's almost like there's an unknown entity at work here that we just don't understand."

"Entity, eh? Interesting choice of words."

"Yeah, well . . ." Apollo trailed off, unable or unwilling to put into words the sensation that was hanging over him. "I can't really explain it."

"So where does that leave us?" Boomer asked, handing his CO the pad back.

"With you heading back to the hangar to launch." Apollo replied. "The sooner we get this over with . . ."

Boomer nodded. ". . . the better. Alright. Ten centons?" He checked his chronometer.

"Ten centons on my mark. Now."

The lieutenant paused, and then turned to his friend, holding out his hand. The captain rose out of the old chair, taking a step forward and gripped his arm.

"It feels like Starbuck should be here with us." Apollo mentioned quietly.

"I know." Boomer nodded, turning for the exit. "At least he would have found a way to lighten the mood." He could hear Apollo's answering snort of agreement as he strode down the corridor, his pace increasing with every step. He broke into a jog as he rounded a corner, his sense of urgency growing as each micron brought them closer to 'zero centar'.

----------

Why, for Sagan's Sake, did these things always happen to _him_? Why couldn't Giles, or Jolly, or Cree ever end up . . .

One centon he's innocently riding in the lift, and the next he's somehow interrupted a fight between Dayton and two Blackshirts, narrowly preventing Dayton from being shot. Starbuck wasn't sure if it was because of the searing, inexplicable pain in his left shoulder, or the tufts of light brown hair that were gripped in Dayton's hand, but instinctively he pulled back his fist and let the Earthman have it.

As Starbuck's blow impacted with his chin, Dayton's head snapped back and his eyes rolled up in his head like a one-armed bandit at a gaming chancery. He drooped backwards, collapsing to the deck, still partially covering the lieutenant.

Starbuck lay numbly on the deck for a moment before realizing that someone was dragging Dayton off of him. Further to that, someone else was talking to him.

". . . thing you came along when you did, Lieutenant."

"What . . . what happened?" He asked the others as he slowly sat up, his hand gingerly touching his scalp, vaguely wondering if he had any hair left in that particular patch.

"We caught him trying to leave the crew deck." Officer Koradon piped up, his weapon now also drawn and covering his partner who was rolling the Earthman over and pulling his arms behind him. "They'd already been warned that they had to stay put. Hades Hole, he was going to take the lift to the Bridge!"

"The Bridge? What for?" Starbuck asked, slowly rolling to his knees, flinching as he put his weight on his left arm and a burning pain hit him again. He reflexively covered it with his hand as he climbed to his feet.

"He said he needed to see the Commander." Timeus explained. "At least that was what it sounded like. Kind of hard to tell with that accent of his. We told him he just couldn't pop in and see the military leader of the Fleet and the President of the Council of Twelve when his little heart desired."

"Yeah, then he went crazy on us. Started yelling at us in his language and pushing his way to the lift." Koradon added, moving closer as Dayton groaned, rousing. "We had to subdue him."

"Yeah. Nice job on that," Starbuck quipped, any opportunity to get a gibe in at the Security Officers just too strong to resist. He glanced at his shoulder, the telltale singe mark of a laser blast on his flight jacket. Luckily, the heavy material had taken the brunt of it. _ Someone _had been looking out for him. _About damn time_ after the last couple of days.

"Hades Hole, he's a lot stronger than he looks." Koradon returned. "He_ looks _like someone's Grandfather."

"But fights like a wild man ." Timeus added, his head tilted in silent enquiry at the lieutenant's singed shoulder.

"Never underestimate an opponent, guys," said Starbuck, shrugging off the incidental injury. "Remember that."

"Yeah, no kidding," said Timeus, massaging his elbow.

"What the hell . . . hit me?" Dayton moaned, stiffening as he felt a body straddling him and his arms wrenched behind him. "Hey! Get off!"

"There he goes again!" Koradon muttered at the unfamiliar words. "Can't understand a word he's saying!"

"People tend to revert to their native tongue when they're upset . . . or coldcocked," Starbuck mentioned, striding towards the man. Lords, he'd had more than his share of angry foreign words hurled at him in the early days of the Fleet when he'd gone from ship to ship on various inspection duties. In fact, he could swear fluently in six languages now. "Dayton! In Standard! What in Hades were you doing?"

Dayton twisted his head around, as he felt a restraint snap onto his wrist. "Starbuck? I've got to see the Commander!" He yelled in Standard. "I have to stop them! They'll blow up your ship! Get this_ idiot _off me!"

Starbuck was down on a knee beside him in an instant. "What are you talking about?" He placed a hand over the Blackshirt's, halting his attempt to secure Dayton completely. "Wait a centon, Koradon." He grabbed Dayton's shoulder, pushing the man onto his back, his sore arm forgotten for the moment. "What's going on?"

The Colonial Blaster aimed for Dayton's head distracted the Earthman momentarily as a Security Officer stood just behind Starbuck, his weapon aimed with deadly accuracy at short range. The NASA Commander hesitated until a he received a rough shake from the Colonial Warrior.

"What's happening?" The lieutenant demanded again, his eyes blazing into the commander's, as he leaned over Dayton, for the second time blocking a possible shot.

"The Dynamos! John's right. I was wrong. Totally wrong. If Captain Apollo overloads the Dynamos, the _Galactica_ will get it too!" He took a few deep breaths, seeing both Security Officers flank them, both weapons aimed at his head. He looked up at Starbuck. "You have to stop Apollo, Starbuck. John was right."

"John? Who the Hade's . . ." Lords, Dayton was talking in riddles. It made him want to thump the man again! Suddenly, it clicked and his jaw dropped, his mouth gaping for a micron. "John? The Ship of Lights?_ That _John?"

Dayton scowled at the younger man in frustration, grabbing him by the tunic and giving him a shake in return. "Ship? How the hell should I know what ship he's from? He wasn't on a bloody ship! The _angel _guy. Calls himself John. I know it sounds crazy, but he once saved my stupid ass when I was a kid. He knew, Starbuck. He _knew_ I . . . " He paused, an innate sense of self-preservation halting his incriminating words. "He knew I was wrong about the Dynamos when I told Commander Adama they were safe to blow simultaneously. A blast of that magnitude will wipe out half the asteroid field, the _Galactica_ included."

"Holy frack." Starbuck muttered, loosening his grip on the NASA Commander, as he briefly wondered why John couldn't have just popped in on Apollo on the base to tell the strike captain himself. It could never be _easy_ with John. He turned to the guards. "I'm taking him to the Bridge, guys."

"But, what's a Dynamo . . .?"

"Starbuck, we can't . . ."

"Come _with_ us, then!" He raised a hand, cutting off their questions. "But he's right. He's got to get to the Commander. Now!"


	67. Chapter 67

Starbuck looked very much like a man who was trying very hard to control himself, without a lot of success. He had grabbed Dayton's tunic when he had hoisted him off the floor as if he was a mere child, and had not let go since then. Now they stood in the elevator on their way to the Bridge, seconds passing by as if they were hours, and stared at each other as if they were combatants in an ancient duel, each one measuring the another up. The warrior clearly had things to say to him, and was just as clearly _not_ going to say them in the presence of Colonial Security, which was probably a good thing. Still, Dayton refused to flinch as the younger man's eyes bored into him, suspicion clearly written upon his features, as well as in the tension of his body.

Dayton grabbed the warrior's fist where it clutched his clothing. "Look, this is an elevator, not some bloody dark alley! I'm _not_ going anywhere." He muttered, his eyes glancing meaningfully around the enclosed space.

"Count on it," Starbuck nodded, his voice low and menacing, not letting up his grip.

It was if he was _daring_ Dayton to try and do something about his hold, and the NASA Commander was immediately reminded of similar instances of himself on the edge over the last thirty years. It wasn't the first time the young man had induced such déjà vu. No wonder that they always seemed to be at each other's throats. But there was no bloody way that he was going to cede ground to a pissy little mama's boy, even if his mama was some witch from another solar system . . .

He opened his mouth, intending to say as much while Starbuck's eyes narrowed, like Clint Eastwood's, poised to tell him to "make my day". The _hiss_ of the opening doors interrupted the stand off.

"C'mon," Starbuck muttered, and Dayton was tempted to slam him as he felt himself once again dragged along, this time by the arm, and towards the Command Center of the _Galactica._ However, there simply wasn't time for such shenanigans, and despite his anger at his treatment by the Security Officers and then by Starbuck, he realized that despite his youth, the lieutenant was an extremely good judge of character—or at least_ his _character. Alarmingly so.

Still he couldn't resist, "Wouldn't miss it for the world, Mocha Man."

----------

The low hum of the asteroid base's Control Center was almost mesmerizing. There was something about white noise that was comforting to a man who had lived the better part of his adult life on a Battlestar. That constant drone of the mighty engines that never went away, yet simultaneously disappeared into the background, except for when he sat and purposely listened for it, always impressed at how quickly his mind flipped that inner switch to make him notice it once again.

The subtle shift from awareness to obliviousness of one's environment; it often happened without notable discernment. One moment, acutely aware and listening for any shift in frequency, and the next only hearing the extraneous sounds around it. Apollo grinned. It happened consistently in parenthood as well.

However, after a couple of sleepless days, the background hum was almost of a lulling quality, which was almost ridiculous in the situation. He became dimly aware that his eyes were growing heavy and his head actually bobbed forward onto his chest, which had happened before at one of Starbuck's all night card games after a couple glasses of ambrosa, but never on duty. And certainly not so quickly.

Apollo snapped back up and ran his hands through his hair, roughly rubbing his scalp as though he could resultantly increase the blood flow to his brain. He shook his head and drew a deep breath, checking his chrono and realizing he only had another six centons until zero centar.

That damned red button almost seemed to wink at him, enticing him to reach forwards prematurely._ What would be the harm? Just get it over with, Captain._ _After all, you might find out a few centons earlier that the damn thing isn't going to work_ . . . _or you might find yourself joining your family in the hereafter. _

Apollo sniffed in amusement. It was a bit like the white noise. Two little voices talking to him, giving him opposing views, and him barely cognizant of the fact. He squirmed, then leaned back into the seat cushion. _Lords, you must be tired!_

Then again, in life there was always more than one possible solution, and more than one viewpoint on virtually any topic. He constantly faced crucial choices he had to make that would effect others, especially as a Strike Captain and father. Usually, he just did so on autopilot, confident in his moral fiber, but for some reason this time he was aware of the pros and cons, was arguing before and against, even when they already _had_ a plan in place. _But you're the Strike Captain. You can change the plan._

The thought brought him back to the gambling chancery on the Rising Star when he and Starbuck had first met Chameleon and the lieutenant had introduced his friend—_somewhat_ comedically—as "my conscience, Apollo". He, on the other hand, had often imagined Starbuck as the little demon with a pitchfork on a shoulder, leading him into temptation. Albeit it was more common in the old days, and most notably while they were still at the Academy. But he could almost imagine Starbuck hovering over his shoulder now, telling him he was just too hung up on rules and regs and to just push the fracking button _so we just call it a day and get back to the OC before the last round._

His finger hovered over the button, as his face quirked in an insouciant grin. _Yeah, do it for old times sake. Starbuck will love it. Just imagine his face when you tell him about it!_

_Don't be daft! If you even breathe hard on that button, I'll turn you into a porcine so quickly you'll be breakfast protein on a grill on the morrow!_

Apollo jolted, jerking back as if an electrical bolt had passed through him. He jumped to his feet. He was reasonably sure that_ hadn't _been his conscience talking.

----------

Boomer sprinted the last hundred metrons or so to his ship, his inexplicable compulsion about making every milli-centon count pervading him as he raced back to his fighter. His heart was pounding and he was out of breath by the time he leapt into the cockpit, as though his Viper was the latest model of sports hovermobile just off the assembly line.

He grabbed his helmet, settled into the seat, and then checked his chrono, nodding in satisfaction that he had covered the distance in mere centons and that he had plenty of time before he had to launch. Plenty of time to catch his breath and . . . _Do what exactly?_

_Launch your astrum out of here, Boom-Boom. Just like the captain said._

He shook his head at the thought. Never once as he ran back to the hangar had he even contemplated that he would jump into his ship and launch. It had seemed so clear in his mind then that now the abrupt thought was just plain strange.

_Remember the plan, Lieutenant? You launch. Apollo blows the Dynamos._

Yeah, he remembered. But he also was certain he had to wait . . . for something. Yeah, wait. Wait, but . . . But for what? And for how long?

He shook his head in frustration wondering for a micron where _this_ particular set of circumstances was in the fracking manual. Apollo would know . . . but he couldn't exactly jog back and ask him.

_Starbuck wouldn't be hesitating. No, he'd . . .what?_

----------

They burst onto the Bridge from the short corridor in a momentous display of unruly misconduct. But hey, if anyone knew how to make an entrance, it was Starbuck. Every head turned their way as Starbuck pulled Dayton alongside him, followed closely by Officers Koradon and Timeus.

Starbuck recognized the all too rare exhibit of anger on Adama's features, as the older man took the stairs of the Command Level two at a time, descending to meet them, robe behind him wafting like some ancient king's. But it was Tigh's voice that rang out across the Bridge before the warrior had a chance to even open his mouth.

"_Lieutenant Starbuck_, what is the meaning of this?" Tigh asked, his voice clear and crisp as he cut off their approach.

"Sir, I can explain . . ." Starbuck began, aware of Dayton suddenly jerking out of his grasp. He twisted towards the Earthman, determined not to let him out of his sight or influence, especially since he was personally responsible for the NASA Commander being there, and likely to take the heat for it.

"_Stand alert_!" Tigh hollered, further outraged when Starbuck glanced at him in surprise at the sudden demand for military correctness, before reluctantly pulling himself erect.

"Colonel, we have to . . ." Starbuck started, attempting once again to relay his information, his hands tightening into fists, and his body almost trembling in his tension.

"_Lieutenant_!" Tigh barked at the further break in discipline, his shoulders rising ever slightly with a deep, steadying breath as he studied the warrior with a mixture of derision and contemplation. He didn't fail to notice the lieutenant's obvious agitation, bordering on desperation, and realized Starbuck was about to step out of line yet again . . . and there had to be a damn good reason, knowing as the lieutenant did the likely results of his unacceptable behavior. "Explain yourself _now_."

Starbuck blew out a short, exasperated breath, again turning to check on Dayton's whereabouts before replying. "We _have_ to abort, Sir. If we over-energize those Dynamos all at once, the resulting blast will destroy the _Galactica_."

Dayton stepped forward, falling in beside the lieutenant, old habits dying hard. "It's true, Colonel. Commander. I made a . . . a miscalculation. One of those Dynamos exploding at full power was enough to open a wormhole between two solar systems. The rest of them being blown simultaneously would tear apart the asteroid field half way across this system, and this ship."

"A_ miscalculation_?" Tigh asked incredulously. "How in God's. . .?"

Adama's eyebrows rose for a micron before he turned towards the Command Level. "Omega, raise Lieutenant Boomer on the commline."

"Yes, Sir."

Adama stood before Dayton, his hands clasped behind his back as he studied the Earthman. "How . . . did you miscalculate something of this magnitude, Commander Dayton?"

"Without the benefit of my tried and true Texas Instruments Calculator." The Earthman returned solemnly, well aware it would translate as pure gibberish even with the most recently modulated languatronic thingy that they were using. Hell's Bells, the thing still couldn't handle colloquial chit-chat without it sounding like Jive on a bender. No way was it going to breeze its way though the higher mathematics of electrodynamics, collapsar fields, and string theory.

"What the frack are you talking about, Dayton?" Starbuck snapped at him, breaking posture. "Tell him . . ."

"Starbuck." Adama said. It was all the warning necessary to snap the young warrior back to military correctness after close to a deca-yahren of service, but Adama saw the wince cross his features, not at being reprimanded—far be it for Starbuck to be affected by a simple comeuppance—but at being effectively gagged for another moment. He nodded briefly, "Go ahead, Starbuck."

Starbuck's relief was evident. "Commander, the Ship of Lights Beings. They've intervened again. They got Dayton to . . ." he paused, suddenly strangely reluctant to relay his own suspicions of the other's culpability. ". . . realize he was wrong. It was John. The same guy that involved us in the war between the Eastern Alliance and the Terrans. _And_ Dayton said that he's seen John before. On Earth!"

"Earth?" Adama repeated, startled by the information.

"Commander, Lieutenant Boomer standing by on the commline," interrupted Omega.

"Put him through," Adama instructed, eyes still fixed on Dayton.

"Lieutenant Boomer here, Sir. Standing by in the hangar." _With my finger on the thrusters and ready to launch . . . for the last five centons, _he didn't bother to add.

"Boomer, abort the mission. Repeat, abort the mission." Adama ordered.

"Sir?"

"If we blow the Dynamos, we'll destroy everything, including the _Galactica_!" Adama briefly explained.

"On my way, Sir!"

"Colonel, bring us around, Delta 2-8. And then get us out of here. Commander Dayton, do you have a . . 'Texas Calculation'of the approximate blast radius?"

"Not in anything I could convert to your Colonial Standard, Commander. That would take hours." He watched as the asteroids disappeared from the main viewport, the ship coming around as ordered. "Just get the hell out of Dodge, Commander, and do it now."


	68. Chapter 68

It was a little bit alarming for a girl who had written off about ninety percent of what was in her religious training as total felgercarb and the rest as highly suspect.

Luana could feel a strange energy flowing through her, almost as though her limbs had fallen asleep from lack of circulation and the sensation was now returning . . . only thankfully it was not as painful. Her nerve endings tingled, especially where she held hands with Ama and Lia, and both women were looking upward, but obviously inward, as the ceiling of the Life Station seemed to hold little in the way of answers as to what was really happening.

Lu gritted her teeth, fighting back the rising panic that made her want to snatch back her hands and break their connection. She focused on her godmother, seeing the same reverence on Ama's face that she had seen ever since she was a small girl. It was strangely comforting. Still, she suspected that if she was to start screaming in the necromancer's ear, she would not be heard. Ama seemed to be in her sacred place where she was one with all of creation, and if the awe stricken look on Lia's face was any indication, Ama had taken her sister along for the ride.

A fleeting jolt of jealousy passed through her. She could remember as a child wanting nothing more than to go to this magical place that her godmother spoke of, as if it was a secret garden full of wonderful, indescribable things. She spent centars imagining what it must be like to finally pass through the gateway, pushing it aside to behold the beauty.

Ama finally explained that the beauty, the wonder and the reward were all to be discovered within her. And that the journey of discovery would last a lifetime.

It was a bit abstract for the young girl who wanted to find the mystical wonderland. And after enough yahrens of her father's careful training and guidance, teaching her to question everything that didn't make sense and second guess the things that did, as he prepared her to support her older sister, the next Empyrean Emperor, Luana was as skeptical as they came. Her parents weren't quite prepared when she also questioned Empyrean spirituality and tradition.

Yet somehow Luana knew that whatever Ama was doing now transcended mere prayer. Her people had known all along that the Empyrean Necromancer had a special gift. Her powers surpassed any necromancer before her as she communed with the spirits, practiced her magic, and lead their people, both in divinity and as their regent after the death of the Emperor.

And now every disbelieving bone in Luana's body was shaking as she stared at Ama, trying to lend some strength, though truthfully wondering why it was _her_ agnostic piece of flesh that the old crone would choose to grasp those centons ago. _Must be the dang Talisman, Lu. The power of the trinity._ And it became clear to her then that all she really had to do was hold firm, and let Ama do whatever it was that Ama was doing. At this moment her faith in _Ama_ was absolute.

----------

It took Boomer nearly a full centon before he realized that his burning lungs could be related to the failing Life Support systems as he raced back towards the Control Room. He pulled his life mask in place, sweat pouring down his face, his boots feeling as though they were filled with condensed tylium, and his legs aching from a lack of oxygen as he pumped his arms harder to drive himself onward.

It was like living out his worst nightmare. He seemed to be moving in slow motion as he tore through the corridors, trying to get every bit of energy out of his oxygen deprived muscles. But instead of accelerating, he seemed to be slowing down, as well as the world around him. The surface, the walls, even the very light seemed somehow to be slowing down, as if the universe was staggering to a cataclysmic halt.. He wasn't sure if the environmental settings of the asteroid base was now effected resulting in a loss of gravity, or he was simply perceiving it that way.

Either way, if he didn't get to Apollo in time, they'd be dead. Hopefully, the _Galactica_ could pull away in time, saving her crew. Saving his surrogate family. For a micron, it baffled him that he couldn't recall how long it took to turn the leviathan around and get her moving. Honestly, she'd been sitting still defending the Fleet like a mother defends it young for so long . . .

_Lords, if I set foot on her decks again, I'm going to kiss the first person I see, and damn the consequences!_

He felt his mouth open, his lungs like turbos in a launch tube, as a noise reached his ears. His own voice . . .

_"Apollooooooooooooooooooooooo..."_

----------

Starbuck had felt like jumping ship right then and there when the Battlestar had started to pull away from the pirate base. Lords of Kobol, if there was any way he could have made it to Alpha Bay and launched, he would have. Just the thought of leaving Apollo and Boomer behind made it feel like his guts were being ripped out with an Obediator chaser. Adama had somehow known, putting a restraining hand on his shoulder in the exact milli-centon as he teetered on the brink of indecision, telling him clearly, "there just isn't time, Starbuck."

And truthfully, he had known it.

Still, he felt so useless just _standing_ there on the Bridge awaiting an outcome. It was too damn nerve wracking. Hades Hole, he was a Viper pilot! Viper pilots didn't stand around on the Bridge when his Strike Captain _and_ best wingman had their heads in the leon's mouth. The weird part was it hadn't occurred to him to be concerned for the _Galactica_. He had this irrational belief—the same one that made him climb in a cockpit and soar through the stars with the utmost confidence in his abilities, rarely sparing a thought for the possibility of sudden death—that _they_ would all survive. No, it was Apollo and Boomer that were on his mind. Solely.

Otherwise, he'd be racing to the Life Station to see Lu one last time . . .

"_Starbuck _. . ."

He had perched himself behind Athena's left shoulder, studying her monitor and watching for any sign of an explosion from the asteroid base as the _Galactica_ swung around and headed away from disaster. Apparently, he was getting on her nerves. He let out a sigh, knowing this had to be twice as tough on her since it was _her _brother out there, _and_ her father was her CO. But Athena, ever the consummate officer, was trying to remain professionally detached as she monitored her station. However, knowing Athena as he did, just below the carefully controlled surface façade of calmness was her turbulent reality.

"I just . . . " he started.

"I know," she cut him off, more sharply than she had intended. It was difficult enough trying to do her job when her father had just given the order that dictated they would leave behind her only living sibling, possibly to his death. No bloody way was she going to break down, like she had when Zac had died. But in addition, having Starbuck right behind her, rigid with tension and suppressed apprehension, was taking her to the point where she would either scream or hurt someone. Probably Starbuck. "Just give me some room to breathe, all right?" she glanced behind her, regretting her words as she took in the battered face that stared back at her.

"Yeah." He muttered, leaning back . . . marginally, and removing his hand from the back of her chair. He turned to scan the bridge, suddenly feeling a slight tug on his sleeve.

"Sorry," Athena breathed, before turning back to her station.

"Don't be," he returned, leaning down and planting a kiss on her head, not caring about the_ look _the Colonel was giving him. "He's _Apollo_. He'll make it."

Athena nodded sharply, wondering if he felt half as confident as he sounded.

Starbuck turned and scanned the Bridge, keeping half an eye on Dayton only metrons away. It suddenly occurred to him, "Where are the others, Dayton?"

Dayton's lips tightened in a grimace, realizing Ryan, Baker and Porter wouldn't have a clue what he was up to. They'd be waiting for it all to play out. Would there even be so much as a split second of awareness if the blast enveloped the Battlestar? Awareness that he had failed his men and destroyed the remains of a civilization of Humans that could be distantly related to his own people. They wouldn't even know he had made an effort to turn it all around. _If you can hear me, angel, John, whatever your name is . . . I hope to God you know what you're doing. _ To Starbuck he muttered, "Officer's Club."

Starbuck nodded once again uncertain of the Earthman's culpability and that of his crew. How in Hades was he going to deal with this? He couldn't ruin the man's reputation and standing with the Commander on a hunch. And what kind of impact would it make on the Fleet if they announced that the Earthmen they had discovered had conspired to murder them all within centars of rescue? It wouldn't exactly be the cheery news they had all hoped would improve the morale of their people. _And now, at the top of the centar, breaking news on the IFB. Men from Earth discovered! We take you now to Cell Block 2010 of the Prison Barge for an up close and personal interview with Commander Mark Dayton of the Space Shuttle Endeavour . . . _But what was the alternative? Withholding possibly crucial information from his Commanding Officer?

Adama paced back and forth across the Command Level, his face tight with tension, the survival of the Battlestar, and consequently the entire Fleet, uppermost in his mind. Still, he was reminded of another time, and his eyes moved quickly to Athena—Starbuck seemingly standing guard over her—when he had stood by helplessly on the Bridge, waiting as Zac fought and died just beyond the protection of his base ship . . . and his father. "Colonel?"

"Based on rough estimates, we should be safely clear of the blast radius in one point three centons, Commander." Tigh replied, his voice seeming to boom across the oddly quiet Bridge.

"Continue on present heading." Adama looked down at his daughter for a moment, then spoke. "Athena?"

"N…nothing, Commander." She cleared the sudden lump in her throat before adding, "Scanners clear on all wavelons." A hand settled on her shoulder, squeezing it gently. Athena took a deep breath, this time feeling Starbuck's support rather than his anxiety. He was being there for her, as she had for him when he had arrived in the landing bay half conscious. Nothing more, and nothing less, and strangely enough, it felt good. She spared him a look before returning her full attention to her scanners.

"Forty microns and counting."

----------

Apollo couldn't get Boxey out of his head. Little snippets of time replayed through his mind featuring his son. High points of his young life—meeting Muffit for the first time; the engagement party at Adama's; the wedding; his last natal day celebration; his first day of school on the Galactica; his first sleep over.

_Twenty, nineteen, eighteen . . ._

And the low points—the withdrawn young boy Apollo had first met on the Rising Star; Serina's horrible death, thanks to his own . . . carelessness; the stark relief and then resounding love and confidence in his son's eyes after Apollo had returned, having been temporarily marooned on Equellus; shivering in misery on Death Point Plateau on Arcta; almost losing Adama after the Cylon suicide attack on the Bridge, and subsequent fire on the _Galactica; _almost losing Boxey and Athena in the same attack.

_Twelve, eleven, ten . . ._

Boxey had a strength of spirit that Apollo couldn't begin to explain. Each time that he had gone away on a mission, his son would be waiting for him, resolutely determined that his father would return. Victorious.

_Six, five, four . . ._

His faith in his father was absolute. Apollo was proud of that, but also a little intimidated by it. How would the youngster cope if he didn't return?

How had _he_, when Adama had gone away, so many times when he was Boxey's age? _And you hadn't seen the same degree of loss. You weren't as aware of the fragility of life. _

_One . . ._

He leaned forward to push the button.


	69. Chapter 69

Boomer burst through the entrance of the Control Room, the echo of his own voice shouting Apollo's name still ringing in his ears. The captain sat in front of the console, his elbows resting on its surface and his head cradled in his hands. Somehow the defeatist posture, something he had never seen in Apollo, deflated the urgency. Still . . .

"Did you . . .?" Boomer asked, approaching his friend as he immediately scanned the equipment. The small indicator light above the switch bank was still steady.

"No." Apollo replied, dragging his fingers down his face and staring at the red button before him. "I couldn't. I . . . I feel like I've had this. . . this battle going on inside my head. I haven't felt this conflicted since E..." He stopped, realizing he had been about to mention his time on Equellus, and his almost overwhelming desire to stay there, not long after Serina's death, with Vela. "Since I had to leave Zac. Weird images. Ideas I can't explain. Boxey . . . Starbuck . . .Zac . . . even_ Ama_."

Boomer nodded, reaching down and pulling Apollo's life mask up over his face. "Ama, eh? That's scary."

"Tell me about it," Apollo sniffed ruefully, "Is that it? Not enough oxygen?" He secured it behind his head, chagrined that he had overlooked something so simple. So obvious_. Idiot! Any first-secton cadet knows better!_

"I don't know." The lieutenant replied, "Honestly, I've been feeling a bit discombobulated myself. But I _can_ tell you that when_ I _decided to sit in the launch bay instead of getting out of here, it paid off. We have new orders. We're to abort. Apparently, if we had over-energized the Dynamos, the blast would have destroyed the entire asteroid belt, probably taking the _Galactica_ with it."

"How the frack . . .?" Apollo asked, looking up at Boomer. His gut instinct had been right, but somehow his dedication to his duty had almost overrode that.

"I don't know. As you can imagine, I didn't stick around to ask for the full explanation." Boomer leaned over, changing screens and checking the environmental display. "We're losing life support fast, Apollo." He pointed to an indicator. "Another of the oxygen plants and an air pump have quit. We need to make some decisions and get out of here. Yesterday."

"Kill the power to the Dynamos, Boomer. We can take them out one by one with our Vipers after we set the main reactor to overload and blow the base." He looked at his friend, hoping he was familiar enough with the archaic equipment to rewire the settings.

Boomer nodded, reaching forward and snapping a bank of switches to _off, _then to be certain, grabbing a handful of wires, and ripping them out of a board. "Done. The Dynamos are dead." He changed screens again, checking the location of the remaining spheroids and downloading the information onto his datapad.

"Too technical for me," Apollo quipped, staring at the entangled wires in amusement. "Do you have the coordinates?"

"I do. Hit the button, Captain, and we'll get out of here."

"Boomer, why don't you . . .?"

"No, absolutely not. I'm not leaving you here alone again." Apollo opened his mouth, his eyes becoming full of that 'officer' look, but Boomer gave him no chance to speak.

"You can bust me down as far as you want when we get back to the_ Galactica_, strip and module me till I need a telescope to look up to a cadet, but we're going together." He shifted position to check the readouts on the reactor. He frowned. If this junk was to be believed, the tritium, the heavy hydrogen used as fuel for the reactor was edging close to depletion. At the current burn rate, the reactor would die in less than a secton. Maybe sooner. "Look, Apollo. Reactor power level is dropping too fast. If we don't overload her now, we won't have the fuel to light one of Starbuck's weeds." He looked from the console to his CO. " We don't have time to argue about this."

Apollo blinked, then nodded briefly, wondering if once again the lack of oxygen was making him go down this familiar path, removing his subordinate officer from danger if at all possible. But Boomer was right. He could feel the cold beginning to seep into his bones, and could detect the slowing of his motor functions that indicated a variation in the environmental gravity. "Did I ever tell you, you've been hanging around Starbuck too much?" He rose to his feet. "Way too much."

"I believe you've mentioned it once or twice." Boomer smiled behind his life mask as he watched the captain depress the button and the main reactor power levels begin to rise on the readouts. "You can sentence me to the sanitation barge once we've saved the Fleet once again."

"Let's get the Hades Hole out of here." Apollo led the way, even as the _bleep _from the console began, and the noise of the reactor started to build.

"Last one to the OC buys a round." Boomer yelled as they headed to the pirate hangar for the last time.

----------

The mood was cautiously optimistic.

"T plus three centons." Athena told them, her eyes not leaving her scanners as she kept watch for any indication of an explosion.

"We should be well out of the blast zone by now, Commander." Tigh added.

"Very well. Hold this position, Tigh. Are we still within communications range?" Adama asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Keep trying to raise Apollo and Boomer. Now, Commander Dayton, tell me the most effective and safe way to destroy these Dynamos." Adama ordered, turning to face the Earthman who had remained near Starbuck, as he curiously watched the events unfold.

"Honestly, I'm not really sure, Commander." Dayton admitted, his hands clasped behind his back. "They kept us away from those systems. Again, I'm aware of the incredible energy they can emit, but just how to go about destroying them . . ." He shrugged.

"Commander Adama, I destroyed the one that blasted Apollo's Viper without incident." Starbuck told him. "One salvo, dead on."

"Right after it discharged?" Dayton asked, turning from Adama to Starbuck, an idea obviously forming in his head.

"Yes," Starbuck agreed, recalling his fury and his need to incinerate the strange spheroid that had disabled his friend

"That might be key, Commander Adama." Dayton pointed out. "If they're inert, they're likely less dangerous. I did once hear Bex say something about the time it took them to recharge. I don't recall how long that was, but I gathered that once they'd shot their bolt, they were helpless."

"Makes sense, Commander Adama," said Starbuck, looking between the two men. "I got as close to that thing as from here to the other side of the Bridge, and it just sat there, sir. It was disabled."

"Agreed." Adama nodded curtly. "Lieutenant Starbuck, take Commander Dayton to the War Room." He motioned to the two guards. "I'll join you there momentarily."

"Yes, Sir."

----------

Starbuck motioned for Dayton to precede him into the War Room, and then followed, Timeus and Koradon flanking the door on the outside. Despite his relief at the _Galactica_ escaping intact, and the apparent safety of his friends, the lieutenant was still wired with anxiety and anger at Dayton for getting them into the situation. He slammed the door, a little harder than necessary, shutting out the Security Officers, and then whirled on the Earthman, finding himself nose to nose with the Space Shuttle Commander.

The older man looked as though he had expected the confrontation, and, as before, stuck himself right in the lieutenant's face, leaving no doubt that he felt himself ready for any eventuality. "Problem, Lieutenant Starbuck?" he snapped, utilizing a voice that he had once reserved for the intimidation of young officers for years before that fateful day in July, 2010. He didn't want to fight the young man, especially since he looked like death warmed over, but he would if he had to. Starbuck had been itching for this since their encounter in the Control Room of the pirate base. Perhaps it was inevitable.

"Just what the frack were you trying to pull, Dayton?" Starbuck snarled, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dayton snapped back. "I made a mistake. A miscalculation in a very complex set of equations, based on a paucity of hard data. That's all there is to it." It wasn't just _his_ ass on the line. If he admitted to his deadly intentions, Ryan and the others would wear it too. They would lose all the credibility with the Colonials that their affiliation with Earth had granted them.

Starbuck let out a short breath. "Now I have a hard time buying that, pal. I might not know you that well, but I_ do _know that you usually have your own agenda. Just like you did back in the Control Room when you killed that attendant." He glared into cold, grey eyes that stared stubbornly back at him.

"Bring it on, _Half-Caf_. If you're questioning my integrity and have a bone to pick with me, I'd be more than happy to wipe up the floor with your sorry carcass." Dayton growled, knowing he could snap the warrior's neck in an instant if he timed it just right . . . though in retrospect, it might not look very impressive to the leader of the Colonial people who would be walking in the door at any moment. _ Damn_, whatwasit about this kid that made him lose his cool so quickly and so completely?

"Listen old man, I know you have some combat training, I've seen it in action, but just remember something. So do I," Starbuck sneered at him, waiting for that certain look in the other's eyes that indicated he was going to make a move. Since they had started up their self-defense and hand-to-hand combat training through the cadet program, he'd picked up some useful moves himself. Some of them made his old street fighting days in Caprica City look more like playschool ruckuses

"_Old man_?" Dayton asked, his lip curling in disdain, his need to prove himself to the younger man overcoming his reason as he made his play. After all, he could modify things a little and just teach the cocky bastard a lesson. He glared at the lieutenant, recognizing that hint of a smile_. The little bugger was enjoying himself! _He smiled back.

Just as one of his old instructors had told him long ago, Starbuck could see the intent in his eyes just before his adversary moved. And since you can't teach an old daggit new tricks, he had a damn good idea what that move would be. He countered it with the speed of youth, and the instinct of someone who had been struggling and fighting to survive since he was found wandering in the Caprican Thorn Forest at the age of two.

As soon as Starbuck felt Dayton grab the hair at the back of his head—the older man moving with the speed of a striking serpent—the lieutenant twisted his body in the same direction, changing the jerking movement into a fluid motion and upsetting the Earthman's balance. Now pulled back against Dayton's chest, Starbuck reached behind him, and simultaneously dropped to his knees, again catching the commander off guard, upsetting the beginnings of a strangle hold. Instead, he grasped Dayton's collar and a whole handful of hair, and he heaved the other forward over his shoulder.

It was Dayton who ended up in front of Starbuck, roughly jerked back against the warrior's chest, an elbow wrapped around his throat, threatening to crush his windpipe.

"Lieutenant Starbuck! Stand down! _ That's _an order!"

And he started to, his head whipping around to see Adama in the doorway, shaking in fury at the melee in his War Room—which was actually kind of appropriate, but Starbuck was probably the only one who saw it that way. That was when Dayton grabbed him by the jaw, as if he could rip half of his face off through pure determination. The warrior grunted, and tried to pull away, but Dayton held on. Starbuck, in turn, drilled him in the side of the head. A mere micron later, the warrior felt the Earthman's fist slam him where it hurts the most and his vision filled with stars. He groaned, his breath expelling reflexively, deflating his lungs so thoroughly that he wondered if they would ever fill up again.

"Enough!" Adama stormed towards them, Tigh on his heels like some overprotective guard daggit, and Timeus and Koradon bringing up the rear. "Release him! Now!"

Then hands were on them, tearing them apart. Starbuck found himself dragged back on his astrum, his head spinning as he tried to catch his breath, and Adama's hand on his collar as Tigh pulled Dayton in the opposite direction.

"By all the Lords of Kobol, what is going on here?" Adama roared, glaring down at the supine lieutenant like the Wrath of Heaven.

"Sorry, Sir . . ." Starbuck wheezed, starting to gingerly sit up, but he was hampered by his Commander's unrelenting grip . . . which on at least one level might have been a good thing, given how he felt below the waterline.

"_Not _what I asked for, Lieutenant Starbuck. I want an explanation, and I want it now!" Adama demanded, not letting go of the younger man's collar, and half tempted to grab a hold of his ear lobe and twist it until Starbuck cried out for his mother's brother . . . however unlikely that was. This was _not_ the behavior he expected of his senior officers, it was more typical of a barroom brawl. And it didn't matter that Starbuck was practically like family. Or it had _ceased_ to matter . . .

"I . . . uh . . ." Starbuck looked from one Commander to the other. Tigh was actually helping Dayton up, but keeping a restraining hand on the other's shoulder. Dayton was breathing hard, manifestly trying hard to control his own anger, his left cheekbone glowing red where Starbuck's last blow had connected.

"Lieu_-TEN_-ant!" To say that Adama's voice was clipped, was like saying that being near a Cylon Base Ship was precarious.

"A difference of opinion, Commander Adama." Dayton inserted, seeing the conflicting emotions on Starbuck's face. No, the lieutenant didn't trust him, but he also realized he had nothing _on_ him. He took a couple deep breaths to calm himself down, shrugging off Tigh's grip. There was nothing more unsettling than someone's restraining grasp upon him after enough years as a prisoner. "I'm afraid both our tempers seem to run a bit on the hot side of flammable."

"I expect more of my officers, Commander." Adama replied, his tone sharp as he let go of Starbuck, taking in his already battered appearance with blood trickling from a fresh scrape on his face. "This kind of , _conduct_ would have warranted a secton in the brig prior to the Destruction, Starbuck."

"I know, Sir . . ." Starbuck started anxiously, shutting his mouth again immediately, and cringing at the thought of another micron in the brig. Memories of being charged with Ortega's termination and pacing within those four remorseless walls . . . Sagan's sake, he was in the daggit house for so much already, it wouldn't really surprise him if he was sent to the brig just to set an example for the cadets and ensigns that looked up to him and emulated him. What else could Adama do really? He'd be a laughingstock if he let Starbuck get away with it, even based on his recent experience. _Lords, you're a dead daggit, Bucko. Better have an epitaph ready for your deathstone._

But then again . . .

"I understand, Sir. If you have to, you have to." His voice was suddenly calm and accepting, as he began to climb to his feet slowly, the events of the last couple days once again catching up with sore, tired muscles. He straightened up as best his battered body would permit him, and went to attention. "I await your judgment, sir."

Adama froze, then blinked, studying Starbuck intensely, shaking his head from side to side, wondering _what_ was going through the warrior's head. This was about as far out of character as he could imagine, Starbuck actually _encouraging_ his commanding officer to punish him with time in the brig.

"Commander," Tigh reminded him. "Borka and Kaden are in the brig awaiting Tribunal."

"Ah." Adama muttered, watching Starbuck's eyes drop guiltily from his own. He let out a deep breath of realization and frustration. "Lieutenant Starbuck. My quarters. Now." He motioned to the guards. "Make sure he doesn't get into any further trouble on the way."

"Sir."

"Tigh, now that Apollo and Boomer are safely away . . ."

"They're okay?" Starbuck interrupted, then snapped his mouth shut again as Adama's glare threatened to incinerate him on the spot.

"Yes." Adama blew out a breath between clenched teeth. "They've just launched. The Dynamos are inert, and the main reactor is set to blow. Now go." He nodded towards the door, watching Koradon take the warrior's elbow and remove him, Timeus following. "Tigh, plot a course to rendezvous with Captain Apollo and Lieutenant Boomer. Transfer the main display to this monitor. I'm sure Commander Dayton will be interested to see the demise of his former prison."

"Yes, Commander."

----------

As the Vipers' engines whined to life, and they began to race towards the Galactica, deep within the asteroid, separated from the hangar bay by over five hundred metrons of solid iron-nickel and rock, the reactor began cycling faster and faster. The magnetic flow intakes were opened wide, tritium fuel rushing into the main fusion vessel, alarms blaring, but with no one to hear them. The heat rose, higher and higher, until the cooling system, as programmed, shut down, leaving the archaic machine to run wild. Electrical power flowed at unprecedented levels to all sections of the base, bringing systems that had scarcely worked in ages to a pulsing, if brief, life. Lights blazed at incredible levels, pumps and filters came on-line, even the forcefield that protected the hangar shot up to full strength for perhaps the first time in yahrens.

No one saw the blips on the scanner, the last trace of the departing Vipers, as the power levels surged. The floor of the control room was now vibrating as the reactor ran ever faster, past the maximum safety limits. Soon the chair was shaking, dust and chips of stone raining down from the ceiling, and still it rose, quicker and quicker. Below in the bowels of the asteroid, the reactor was screaming, the light pulsing from the fusion vessel intolerable now, the vessel shaking as it gulped ever larger and more uncontrolled amounts of fuel. Rivets popped, and welds cracked, as the pressure in the reactor continued its unrelenting climb. The heat continued to rise, far above now what any Human could endure, as did the light and noise. Paint was running down the wall, radion seeping from the poorly-maintained reactor burning through doors and bulkheads, and still the roaring monster continued, devouring ever more fuel.

Light fixtures began to blow out as the power raced ever higher, then one system after another fried and died. Fires began to break out below as one system after another overloaded and blew out. It spread upwards through corridors and shafts, the flames greedily gulping oxygen as the reactor continued to scream like an endless choir of tormented souls in the eternal grip of damnation. Higher and higher . . .

"There!" said Tigh, pointing towards the expanding point of light from the Command Level of the Bridge. "There it goes."

"My God," said Adama, watching it on the monitor of the War Room, Dayton seated across from him, his eyes glued to the screen.

"Good Lord . . ." murmured Dayton, looking at the destruction of the only home he had known for the last thirty years.

"Yes." Adama nodded, watching the other as he likely relived several depths of Hades Hole in a single moment. "Now Commander, tell me about this . . . _visitation_ you had from the Ship of Lights' Being, and how you came to realize your mistake."


	70. Chapter 70

There was an indefinable, yet detectable difference in the man before Adama as Dayton discussed his time on the pirate base, the appearance by the Being he referred to as 'John', and then went on to share his experience as a child in Chicago when that same Being had intervened, thereby saving his life.

"John said that your people were meant to find Earth, Commander. That if anything happened to your Fleet, that the people on Earth could suffer as a result. To say that he was vague and cryptic is an understatement." Dayton sighed. "Also, that _we_ were meant to act as envoys of some sort when you finally arrived there." Dayton told him, still shaking his head at the mystical experience. "But _you_ already knew that."

Adama smiled in bemusement at the Earthman's assumption. Some conclusive information from the Ship of Lights, perhaps the first, and a clear sign that divine intervention was at work. Not just a strong feeling based on their unbelievable good fortune. "I've felt from the beginning that Earth was manifestly our ordained destination . . . and our destiny." He smiled slightly. "As I've told you and your men, there are many reasons for that, but my faith overshadows them all. I'm afraid I have not been as blessed as to have had a discussion with these Beings who seem rather vague for the most part about the role which they are playing."

"I admire your convictions, Commander Adama. I mean that sincerely." He was silent for a micron or two. "I seem to have lost some of my faith in the Almighty." Dayton replied quietly. "I just didn't realize it until now."

Adama sat back, quietly giving the man the opportunity to elaborate, but instead a strained silence ensued. Until, "I would think that what you have endured would test any man's faith, Commander Dayton. No matter the specifics of his beliefs."

"Perhaps." He paused, not really wanting to change it into a philosophical discussion—he'd had enough of those with Paddy to last him until, well, the Crack of Doom—and instead tried to remember more of what he had been told. "He also spoke of . . . well, a being that we most often refer to as the devil, and a battle between good and evil which we had been drawn into."

"Iblis."

"Sorry?" Dayton asked, seemingly unfamiliar with this name.

Adama sighed. "A Being we encountered some sectars back. A creature of incredible charisma and bizarre powers. Powers beyond what any Human could ever possess. One who I believe would have destroyed us all given the opportunity."

"How did you manage to stop him?"

"I don't believe it was anything that _we_ did, Commander." Adama admitted.

"John's bunch?"

Adama smiled at the simplification of the celestial beings being referred to simply as 'John's bunch'. "I wish I knew for certain. Those involved in Iblis' final encounter have a . . . fleeting recollection of all of the events. Almost as if they weren't _meant_ to remember exactly what transpired."

"John inferred that he considers us . . . well, a bit thick," Dayton murmured, wrinkling his brow. "_Primitive_ is the word he used."

"I recall Count Iblis saying something similar." Adama nodded. "He contemptuously called us 'primitive children'. And this intervention by . . . John. Was he. . . forestalling an act of evil? Or informing you of an honest mistake?"

"I wish . . . I understood that one completely myself." Dayton said reluctantly. "John told me that . . . I was, at least partly, under the influence of . . . evil." He looked up at the Commander, seeing the other man's eyes search his features. He shook his head. "I take full responsibility for what almost happened, Commander. I never meant to harm your people."

Adama nodded after a moment. "I appreciate your candor, Commander Dayton. I admit, I _did_ wonder. I know that you were reluctant to have my people find Earth, knowing that the Cylon Empire is still pursuing us. I will admit that it is understandable, given the state of Earth technology at the time you left."

"Perhaps, if destiny is truly our guide, then it is my role to ensure you do something about them before you reach Earth?" Dayton suggested. "Something that'll bust their chops for good?"

"Perhaps, Commander." replied Adama, certain that the Languatron's rendering, "Apply a woman's bosom to their steaks" was not what the other had meant to say. But in any case, I'm satisfied to know that from this point forward we go on towards Earth as brothers." He held out his hand to the other.

Dayton gripped it firmly. "Brothers."

"Now, if you will excuse me, I have to . . . _debrief_ Lieutenant Starbuck."

"I understand, Commander," replied Dayton, with a slight chuckle. "I have to say, young officers are a bit less restrained in_ your _military. In my day, I would have been cleaning latrines with a toothbrush if I'd stepped out of line like that . . . Then again, I suppose my behavior wasn't any better, and I do apologize for that."

Adama could feel himself bristling at the comment, but took a deep breath, and called on yahrens of diplomatic skills to cover his reaction. "Your . . . . behavior was likely the cumulative result of all you have been through over thirty yahrens " smiled Adama wanly. "I expect more of my officers, and Lieutenant Starbuck _is _about to be informed of that." He turned to go, then turned back at a gasping sound from Dayton. "Commander?"

"Wait a sec . . . did you say this guy, the devil, called himself Iblis?" Dayton's eyes were intense as he gazed at the Languatron.

"Why, yes. Count Iblis was the name he used. Why?"

"That name! I must be getting senile in my old age. Do you have a picture of him?"

"Yes," replied Adama, and went to the terminal. After a few microns, the computer coughed up a tape of the diabolical Count, taken in the _Galactica's _Council Chamber, during and after the sentencing of Baltar. Iblis was speaking.

_ ". . . just as it has led you to surrender to their justice . . ."_

"Dear God!" breathed Dayton. "I . . . I _have_ seen that man." He asked Adama to freeze the image, and Dayton stared at the likeness of the handsome, malignant Count. "Bloody hell!"

"When?" asked Adama.

"On Earth. That same day I nearly got flattened by traffic." Dayton began to pace. "The hockey card I followed out into the street . . ." He pointed to Iblis. "I remember seeing _him _just before the wind whipped it out of my hand."

"Are you sure?"

"Oh yeah! Those eyes . . . and this way he was looking at me . . . I can't explain it really . . . And he had this_ presence _about him . . . " He closed his eyes thinking back to the moment. "I remember . . . trying to figure out how I knew him. I thought that maybe he was someone quasi-famous, like a local newscaster. I'm sure of it. No way it could have been _anyone_ else, Commander." His eyes flew open. "And . . . that name. . ."

"His name? He told you his name?" Adama asked uncertainly.

"No." Dayton turned back to Adama. "My father was an academic. Knew a whole load of stuff about ancient cultures and mythologies. In one of the cultures on my world, a people known as the Arabs, part of their ancient folklore speaks of a class of beings, spirits actually, called _jinn._ There are good ones, and evil ones. And the ruler of the evil _jinn_ is called Iblis!"

Adama stared at him mutely in wonder.

----------

"Be careful." Boomer reminded Apollo as they approached the first 'inert' Dynamo.

"Starbuck did it." Apollo returned, a light note to his voice, but his eyes on his scanners.

"And that, of course, makes me feel so much better?" Boomer drolled, keeping a close eye on his wing leader. "I mean, hey! If Starbuck did it . . ."

"Something like that," Apollo replied as he lined up his first shot visually, the target too small to be sighted by the attack computer. "Here goes . . ."

The single shot hit the target dead on, and in a single, unspectacular flash of light, the spheroid was gone.

"Nice shot," Boomer told him.

"Thanks. That was relatively . . ."

"Disappointing?" Boomer asked with a small laugh.

"Yeah." Really not worth the fuss that Sheba would probably make of it when they finally set down. He sighed. "Let's split up. You take the first five, I'll take the others."

"Sounds good, Captain."

"Let's go."

----------

Debriefing Starbuck was reminiscent of talking to Commander Dayton in the War Room. Far too reminiscent. Though the young man answered all Adama's questions without hesitation, the Commander couldn't help but feel as though there was something that Starbuck was leaving out. However, having also questioned Dayton more specifically regarding their time together on the asteroid, he was reasonably certain that the lieutenant was upfront with him regarding his horrid experiences on the pirate base and all the events leading up to them.

Sadistic beatings by pirates; manual labour; some device of torture called an "Obediator"; abdominal surgery with home-made hooch for an antiseptic, and no anaesthesia; and finally escape. Information that Adama had to drag out of the warrior bit by grueling bit. It was no wonder Starbuck looked like several shades of Hades Hole. The right side of his face was a blend of yellow and purple, and the puffy eyelid bespoke the fact that it was likely swollen shut before he had received any treatment in the Life Station.

Adama had known that Starbuck had blacked out in his Viper which had necessitated a remote landing. Athena had rushed to the landing bay, not only to find out the condition of her friend, and one time lover, but to avail him of Ensign Luana's condition. Upon her return to the Bridge, she had reported that Starbuck would be fine and was on his way to the Life Station for treatment. However, the way the warrior was now standing and his obvious lack of endurance indicated the rest of his body was in a similar condition to his battered face.

Yet the fact remained, Starbuck had gone against protocol, ignored regulations and had even mislead his Strike Captain regarding his physical condition when he climbed back into a fighter to expedite his trip back home. And _then _after being released from the Life Station for his debriefing, he was found brawling in the War Room. Add to that his little ploy to try and maneuver himself closer to the accused murderers Borka and Kaden . . .

Adama paced behind the younger man. It was an old but time-hallowed technique. Hades, it had been used on _Cadet_ Adama a few times, long ago. It left the subject in no doubt that if the water got any hotter, he would be served for dinner. He could see the subtle signs that Starbuck was tiring—his back a little less straight, his chin drooping wearily, his breathing faster and more shallow—after almost fifty centons of standing alert and impassively responding to rapid fire questions that were more reflective of an interrogation than a debriefing. But Adama refused to revert to the more familiar and casual command setting usually accorded the lieutenant, so furious was he with the younger man's blatant misconduct

"Stand alert, Lieutenant," Adama reminded him quietly, yet assertively, watching the back snap ramrod straight, the head come up. He knew Starbuck's eyes would be focused on something ahead of him, trying to maintain his waning focus. "You've left me with little recourse, Starbuck." Adama circled around him, again noting the burnt shoulder of the flight jacket from yet _another_ skirmish before the lieutenant even reached the Bridge. He squared his jaw, refusing to give in to sympathy, keeping the younger man off balance, Commander Dayton's recent words about Starbuck's 'unrestrained' behavior still ringing in his ears.

"As I said in the War Room, this kind of conduct warrants a full secton in the brig." He raised an eyebrow as the lieutenant's face remained carefully expressionless, but blue eyes closed briefly for a moment before again shooting open and returning to a spot over Adama's left shoulder. "The problem is that every cell is filled with pirates from the asteroid base."

"And as disappointed and offended as I am by your behavior, _both_ as your Commanding Officer, and as a friend . . ." A definite reaction this time as a shadow of pain crossed Starbuck's features, whether it was psychological or physical the Commander was uncertain, nor did he intend to find out. ". . . I have to counterbalance that against the fact that had it not been for your_ impulsive _and _thoughtless_ decision to seek revenge for the attack on Captain Apollo without consulting Command . . ." Adama paused, changing tack and he raised his chin a bit, his gaze boring into Starbuck, as his voice raised with his ire, "Or perhaps more precisely I should say that you _deliberately_ removed yourself from communications range _knowing_ that I would _never_ give you permission to abandon your wing leader . . . my _son_ . . . " Starbuck's eyes locked on his momentarily, before returning to that same spot. " . . .and you _then_ proceeded into unknown enemy territory without backup." He took a long breath, then slowly let it out, lowering his tone once again. "Still, the fact remains that we would not have discovered the existence of Earthmen, nor the survival of the _Pegasus_ and Commander Cain unless you had done so."

Adama paused as he waited for the warrior to deny it. Or explain it. He watched as Starbuck opened his mouth and then abruptly closed it again, either having no defense or offering none. "And so I find myself in a position whereby I have to discipline you for your lack of thought and your blatant disregard for regulations, while the rest of the Fleet will probably expect me to decorate you for your . . . _courage_ and _intuition._" He said as if the very thought was ludicrous "Do you see my dilemma?" His words were biting.

"Yes, Sir," rasped Starbuck.

"_Yes, Sir, _" repeated Adama, in a low tone. "Well, Lieutenant. What do _you _think I should do, hmm?" He crossed his arms over his chest. "As someone who likes to follow his _own_ flight path, and ignore procedure, perhaps you have a different perspective on things. Please, _do_ tell me."

"I . . ." Starbuck opened his mouth, sparing Adama a fleeting glance, then returned his gaze forward. "I don't know, sir."

"I don't know, sir," rumbled Adama slowly, clearly not pleased. For a moment, he mentally reviewed all the various punishments, hideous and otherwise, to which he could assign the young man. While his fury was scarcely abated, he knew that he could not let emotion dictate his actions. And, until Starbuck was fully cleared medically, anything arduous was out of the question. He . . .

_Ah!_

"Lieutenant Starbuck," he said, voice skewering the Viper pilot like a Drill Instructor out for blood. "You will report to Life Station, where you will remain until Doctor Salik is satisfied that you are medically fit for duty." He saw Starbuck wince, opening his mouth once again, and sucking air like a oxygen deprived fish before apparently changing his mind. Clearly he had no liking for that. Good. "Then, upon receipt of that clearance, you will report to the livestock vessel _Hegal_, where you will spend a full secton as part of the ship's security detail."

"But . . ."

"Yes, I know. The _Hegal_ has no security detail." He watched the various emotions cross Starbuck's face, but the Viper pilot remained silent. Wisely so. "You will rectify that, Lieutenant." He waited a beat. "Along with any and all assistance that might be required in . . . other areas."

"Permission to speak, Sir?" Starbuck began hesitantly, reminding Adama for a moment of a punctured balloon.

"Yes?" his voice again clipped, perhaps more so than he had intended.

"Doctor Paye discharged me from the Life Station because it's overflowing with refugees from the asteroid base. . . much like the brig . . . Sir." His tone was somewhat contrite, but a glimmer of amusement lurked in his eyes at the apparent irony.

Adama stared at him for a moment, the fires of his anger stoked anew with the lieutenant's persistent inclination for finding amusement where there was indeed none. "You presently have . . . medical clearance for duty?"

Starbuck squirmed for an instant, a bead of sweat making its way down the side of his face, before straightening his posture once again. "No, Sir. I'm reporting back for further treatments twice daily."

Adama paused and then crossed briskly to his desk. Surely enough there was a medical report waiting for him on his monitor clearly outlining the extent of Starbuck's injuries, his subsequent treatment regimen, and his expected duration of out-patient therapy, most of which Adama was unaware of, having been too busy dealing with the translocation of refugees and pirates, and overseeing the destruction of the asteroid base and Dynamos. "I see. Well, obviously you are fit enough to be_ brawling _in the War Room, despite your lack of medical clearance. Wouldn't you say, Lieutenant?" he growled, though he looked at his officer with new understanding, and reined in his annoyance.

Starbuck bit his lip. "Yes, Sir."

Adama let out another short breath, as a sudden thought occurred to him. "According to Dr. Paye's report, he expects you to be well enough to return to active duty in about a secton. In the meantime, you will be assigned to light duty, being _personally_ responsible for ensuring that Commander Dayton and his men have a smooth transition into Fleet life. As of tomorrow morning, you will be their official liaison officer."

The shock on Starbuck's face was worthy of a holo-vid. "Sir . . ."

"I'm well aware you and Commander Dayton don't exactly see eye to eye, Starbuck. As is anyone present who was present on the Bridge just over a centar ago, not to mention a couple Security Officers." He said pointedly, glowering at the pilot. "Since neither of you has chosen to enlighten me as to _why_, I've decided to make you his official watch-daggit." Adama smiled. Somehow, he had an idea that Starbuck was already planning to keep an eye on the NASA Commander, and perhaps it would be ironically appropriate for the young officer to take on a role involving skills of a more _bureaucratic_ nature. And despite the fact that Adama was _reasonably _certain that Dayton's mistake wasn't premeditated or malevolent after speaking with him in the War Room, the man still bore watching. Strangely enough, Starbuck didn't look amused this time around.

The sound that left the Colonial Warrior's lips was more indicative of a painful moan than anything that could be considered a reply. Again, he fidgeted on the spot, instinctively wiping at the trail of sweat that now ran off his brow and down his temples, before guiltily glancing at his commander and returning sloppily to attention.

"Sit down, Starbuck." Adama told him, letting a sigh escape. He was now painfully aware that the other had undergone abdominal surgery only centars ago while in Life Station. He shook his head at the pervicacious nature of his officer, and his apparent refusal to admit to his compromised health, especially in view of the fact that Starbuck had just been berated for doing exactly the same thing while in action, which had resulted in his Viper being brought in remotely. But then, Adama realized, _he_ was the one who had set the tone for this encounter.

Starbuck made his way to the nearest chair, lowering himself slowly into it. He again wiped at his face, before looking up wearily at his commanding officer. "Sir?"

"Yes?"

"When I'm cleared for active duty, will I be off the . . ." A flicker of regret at his choice of words. " . . . _excused_ from acting as liaison for Dayton and the others? I mean, unless they're coming to the _Hegal_ with me . . .?" A glimmer of a smile crossed his lips at the unlikelihood of that happening.

"_Commander_ Dayton, Lieutenant. You_ will _treat the man with the respect due his rank." Starbuck's jaw clenched, and it was evident to Adama that once again the lieutenant was holding something back. "Something you wanted to mention, Lieutenant?"

"No, Sir." He held his Commander's gaze reluctantly.

Adama hesitated knowing that one assignment did logically preclude the other. "I . . . might reconsider your assignment on the _Hegal_. Delay it perhaps. I'll let you know."

"Yes, Sir," his voice soft as his weary eyes half closed and he began to study a fascinating place somewhere near his boots. His lips moved silently, as if praying for it to end . . . or silently cursing the day he had crossed his CO.

In many ways, the uncharacteristically dispirited man in front of him was the direct result of the strict military approach Adama had chosen, so furious was he at Starbuck's misconduct culminating in front of—_and _involving—a man of significant rank and position from Earth, assuming the status of their Earth Commanders was similar to the Colonies. Adama had wanted to see some remorse and self-condemnation on the part of his officer. Well, here it was. However, actually seeing his ambition realized, now made Adama think twice. He realized he had based his judgment of Starbuck for the most part, not withstanding all that had happened on the long patrol, on the apparently out-of-control and confrontational young man he had observed in the War Room, and had then reacted based on those observations. _And _of late he had considered on more than one occasion that he had become a bit lax with the discipline of those officers that he had included in his circle of friends. Well,_ this_ officer anyhow. And it was well known that if you gave Starbuck a centimetron, he would take a metron. _Perhaps_ he had overreacted a bit based on that. _You're a bit long in the tooth to not look at all the facts, Adama._ _Even under these circumstances._

"Starbuck . . ." his voice was low as he once again engaged the pilot, this time his tone softer and less officious.

The lieutenant's eyes rose reluctantly. "Sir?"

"Keeping regulations and protocol in mind, tell me, what should you have done instead?"

Starbuck paused, studying his CO, feeling a bit like a first-yahren cadet instead of a decorated lieutenant with almost a deca-yahren of active duty behind him. He shook his head uncertainly. "Commander?"

"I'm sure you've given it some thought by now." Adama suggested wearily. He watched the younger man searching his features, perhaps wondering what lay behind the question, wondering how honest or more likely how 'by the book' to be in his reply. It occurred to Adama that no matter how important it was to him to see his subordinate officer taking responsibility for his decisions and displaying some sense of remorse for his actions, that the lieutenant at this point was likely exhausted beyond the point of caring anymore. He probably just wanted the 'debriefing' to end and would respond appropriately with that in mind_. Blessed Lords of Kobol, please let it be so._

A faint shrug. A slight smile. A shake of his head. "At this point, does it really matter?"

"I believe so," Adama returned, his anger finally extinguished and his own weariness enveloping him. "Humour me, and we'll end this."

Starbuck studied the Commander for a few microns, perhaps weighing the pros and cons of his response, or looking beyond the Fleet Officer for a glimpse of the man he had come to care for like a surrogate father, before replying, "You can't live life in retrospect, Commander."

"Meaning?"

"I can't change what's already done."

"I realize that."

"Then what difference does it make? I can't go back . . . "

"And if you could?"

Starbuck swallowed visibly before replying, "Then I would have never have gone on that damn patrol, Commander. The thing that I regret most—the only thing that I _really_ regret—is that Luana almost ended up . . ." He dropped his commander's gaze, clearing a suddenly thick throat and shaking his head knowing he had disappointed the man who he had held in the utmost respect for so many yahrens by his self-indulgent reply. But he _had_ spoken the truth. Every decision he had made after launching on patrol he would make again, no matter that his commanding officers hadn't particularly agreed with him. He just didn't see himself doing it any other way. Classic text book just wasn't his style, and while it might prevent him from ever reaching the rank of captain—not that they were handing out a lot of promotions these days anyways—at the end of each day, he was damn proud of his contributions to the war effort. "Sorry, Sir. . . I know that's not what you . . . wanted to hear." He absently pushed his hair out of his eyes, shaking his head slightly as if he no longer cared.

Adama closed his eyes for a micron and slowly shook his head as he sat on the edge of his desk. "I'm ashamed . . . to admit that you're right. The young man again dropped his eyes, suddenly unable to meet his commander's gaze, apparently still affected by his CO's opinion. Adama hastily added, "It's on my own behalf that I'm ashamed, not yours, Starbuck. And now that you've reminded me that your betrothed is lying in Life Station, I realize that I should have asked you almost a centar ago how she is. How_ is_ Luana?"

Starbuck sucked a deep breath in, his gaze settling somewhere around his Commander's throat before replying, "Better." He blinked a couple more times and cleared his throat before continuing, this time his eyes reaching Adama's. "She doesn't remember much about what happened . . . but . . . she's recovering. I guess that's more than I had hoped for when they told me she might not even wake up." He squared his shoulders and then shook his head, once again surveying his boots as he drew in a shuddering breath. "Sorry, Sir . . ." he muttered, struggling to maintain his self-control.

Adama reached forward hesitantly, before squeezing the young man's shoulder. "I understand she's a strong young woman whose stubborn streak is only surpassed by your own." He leaned forward, lending his strength to the younger man.

Starbuck smiled slightly, nodding in agreement, before looking up at the Commander, seeing only compassion and understanding looking back at him. "Who told you that?"

"I believe it was Ama, some time ago." Adama smiled, as he leaned back. "I'll look forward to finding out for myself at our next family gathering."

Starbuck just stared at Adama for a moment, appreciative, yet a bit surprised, at the older man ending on a final note of support, after putting him through the paces so severely. He cleared his throat once again and whispered, "Thank you, Sir."

----------

"Here's looking at you, kid." Ryan raised his glass and smiled at Lieutenant Dietra, who gazed back at him in. . . amusement. . . toleration. . . forbearance. . . confusion . . .

"I take it, you're enjoying our ale, Dr. Ryan?" Dee chuckled, shaking her head at the man's continued antics. The Earthman certainly did like to enjoy himself.

"It surely beats Asteroid Whiskey, me darling, and call me Paddy," Ryan drawled in an accent more appropriate to his ancestors, than to himself. "You truly are a vision of loveliness, Lieutenant Dietra. Yea, verily, the stars themselves borrow their glow from the radiance of thy face!"

"Are all the men so charming on Earth?" Dietra smiled at the older man. "And call me Dee."

Ryan winked at her, "Oh, no, only in Canada, Dee." He caught sight of Dayton being escorted in by two security guards. The Commander left his escort at the door, making a beeline for their table. "Well, look what the cat dragged in! Now, here's an offensive lout from Chicago right on cue to demonstrate the differences."

Dietra raised her eyebrows at that. "Is Chicago very far from . . . Canada? You look so similar in appearance, I would have thought you hailed from the same tribe?"

Dayton smiled as he heard her words, pulling out a chair and joining them. "Actually, that's very observant of you, Dee. Interestingly enough, our people both emigrated from a country call Ireland."

"Land of shamrocks, Leprechauns, and famous potatoes!" said Paddy, pouring on the Barry Fitzgerald accent in spades.

"I thought that was Idaho," deadpanned Dayton.

"Vicious propaganda," said Ryan, and took another pull on his mug.

"Well, I tried," shrugged Dayton.

"Not very hard." Ryan added, studying his Commander, his eyes narrowing. "You look . . . alive."

"As do you," Dayton returned, seeing Dietra's curious glance. "At our age, that's the most we can hope for, I suppose."

"Well . . . at_ your _age, perhaps." Ryan countered, signaling to the barkeep for a drink. He leaned closer to Dietra. "I'm _much_ younger."

"Yeah, you look it." Dayton drawled, shaking his head at the long, grey hair that flowed over his friend's shoulders.

"What?" Ryan asked innocently, well aware that Dayton would be looking for a barber at the first opportunity.

"If it wasn't for the teeth," Dayton commented, "you'd be the spitting image of Ama." He chuckled at the sour look on his friend's face. "Did you see the base explode?"

"No." Ryan took a deep gulp from his glass. "It's gone then?"

"Yeah. I . . . spoke to Commander Adama about that . . _. miscalculation _you pointed out. " He locked eyes with his old friend, and all that needed to be said was said in silence. For now. "They overloaded that old Stanley Steamer of a reactor, and blew the base to Kingdom Come. They're going to blow the Dynamos individually with their fighters."

Ryan nodded soberly. "Good riddance." He pushed a fresh glass of ale across to his friend. "Try it. It's good."

Dayton peered at it, then sniffed it, and looked up at Ryan. "Beer?"

"Empyrean ale." Ryan replied, before adding mischievously. "Remember? Ama's people are _Der Brau Meisters_ of outer space . . . not that you'd know much about good beer being from the States."

"Well, at least _we_ don't strain it through moose kidneys first." Dayton replied, taking a tentative sip, his face lighting up. "Ahh . . . that _is_ good."

"I'm afraid I'll have to leave you two gentlemen to your debate, " Dietra smiled, startled to see them both jump to their feet as she stood. "I go on duty in ten centons."

"Thanks for taking the time to make an Earthling more comfortable in a new environment." Ryan smiled at her, pulling her chair back.

"My pleasure, Paddy," Dee replied, seeing Dayton's wince and looking at him curiously.

"Never mind," Dayton shook his head at the use of 'Earthling'. If Ryan had his way, they'd all be known as 'Earthlings' by the end of the day. Sometimes it just wasn't worth the fight. "Hopefully, we'll see you later, Dee."

"I'd like that, Commander Dayton."

"Mark. Call me Mark."

"You Earthlings certainly have a lot of names." Dietra pointed out.

"I blame Mom and Dad."

"Excuse me?"

"Our _Christian_ names—we have Christian names, middle names and surnames—are a form of . . . familiarity that we use with friends and family." Dayton explained, squeezing her hand gently.

Dietra nodded, holding his gaze and his hand as she turned to go. "I like that. It's . . . endearing."

"I was hoping you'd see it that way," Dayton told her with a smile.

"Hmm." Ryan inserted.

"Oh, and Paddy?" Dietra added with a grin. "I have to say that people from Chicago seem to be just as charming as those from Canada."

"Ah well, occasionally he has his moments." Ryan shrugged. "And it helps, Chicago being so close to the border. He's _almost_ civilized. I'll warn you though, " he offered her with a wink, "those moments don't come often. And I speak from experience."

Her ensuing light laughter put a smile on both their faces as they watched her go.

"You're smitten." Dayton accused his friend.

"I prefer to think of it as basking in the warmth of some female companionship." Ryan replied, taking another drink and edging his chair closer, switching to English. "What happened?"

"I . . . came to my senses, you could say." Dayton admitted, wondering about John's comment to him about already having visited Ryan in his lifetime.

"And?"

"Let's just say . . . well, you were right."

"Of course I was. But that's not what I meant. How did Adama take the news? How did you leave it?" Ryan lowered his voice.

"I told him it was a mistake."

"He believed you?"

"I was convincing. Hell, I even convinced myself." Dayton assured him, then looked around the Officer's Club. "Where are Porter and Baker?"

"We ran into Dorado. He took them to the Life Station to check on Dickins and Rooke. They didn't want Dickins to be alone if . . . " he shrugged, trailing off.

"Anything new, on his condition?"

"Nothing. They said they would call, if there was."

Dayton nodded his understanding. "And you?"

Ryan shrugged, "I was waiting for you."

"You knew I'd change my mind, didn't you?" Dayton asked, a little awed by his friend's confidence in him.

"Don't go all sappy and sentimental on me. I just_ hoped _like hell you would." Ryan responded, "That's all."

"Hmm. You haven't met anyone by the name of 'John' lately, have you?"

Ryan blew out a snort of amusement. "John? I'd love to meet a 'John'. I've met all sorts of people, not one 'John' among them. Gods, constellations, mythological heroes, vegetables, emotions, Queen-of's . . . not a 'John' among them. Who the hell's John?"

"I think I'll tell you when you've had a few less ales." Dayton replied, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, then I guess it will have to wait for tomorrow." Ryan replied with a lazy grin raising his hand to the barkeep one more time. "Right now, I feel like singing."

"God spare us!" muttered Dayton, watching his friend grin in reply before:

"_Her eyes they shone like the diamonds. You'd think she was queen of the land.  
And her hair hung over her shoulder. Tied up with a black velvet band!"_

----------

_Demons first, deadbeats last. A necromancer's work is never done_.

Ama smiled pleasantly, mouth closed, at the Security Officer that she had at one time threatened to turn into the 'squealing porcine that he had likely evolved from, however slightly'. "Did Starbuck tell you I'd be by, Officer Reece?"

Reece nodded from behind his desk, deciding to stay there for the moment, though he barely recognized the woman before him dressed in a Colonial styled gown, her hair carefully groomed, and her features strangely composed. She looked almost . . . regal. "Yeah, but I still don't see how . . ."

"Do you doubt my abilities?" Ama asked, touching her usually wild hair now respectably tied back with a beautiful auric clasp.

"Uh . . . well . . . even Starbuck wasn't sure that you could . . . help." Reece replied carefully. He hadn't liked the Colonial Warrior's suggestion at all. It was outlandish to say the least. Still, though Reece's rational mind argued that this wasn't possible, there was something about this woman that defied logic.

"Where is he?" Ama asked, looking down the corridor.

"Borka?" Reece asked.

"Of course, Borka."

"Follow me." Reece told her as he rose, but he sighed as the woman preceded him to the secured area which housed the holding cells, pausing at the locked door. The additional feature was added after one Lieutenant Starbuck had managed to escape his cell in the brig, exposing the glaring insufficiency in their security features many sectars ago . . ._ and_ making them look like idiots.

"You slipped the tincture into his nutrients?" Ama asked quietly.

"Of course." He responded quietly. "He said his head is pounding like a tambour."

"Perfect." Ama stood back as Reece punched in a security code and pulled open the heavy door.

"This way . . . " Reece began, gritting his teeth as Ama again swept past him and walked directly to Borka's cell.

Borka lay on his bunk, his arm flung over his eyes, looking up briefly, wincing at the intruding light as he curiously assessed the older woman entering his cell. His gaze flickered to Reece as the cell door slid open. "Are you the Gemonese Therapist?"

"Of course," Ama agreed. It took all the control she possessed to not just blast him with one of her favourite spells, or perhaps the Empyrean Curse . . . Instead, she smiled slightly and approached him slowly. "I can see _and_ feel your pain, Borka. Take a few deep breaths and relax. It will not take long for me to ease your suffering."

"The painkillers didn't work, " Borka told her. He had to be alert for the hearing with Sire Memnon, and that was only a centar away. "Are you sure _you_ can?"

"I am." Ama replied, motioning for the burly man to sit up. "You may go now, Officer Reece."

"Uh . . . Maam, I not sure it's a good idea to leave you along with this man . . ." Reece glowered at the two-bit thug, though Borka hardly looked menacing with his head clenched between his hands. Starbuck would kill him if something happened to the old woman.

"I assure you, Officer, it's a very good idea. Besides, I'm not planning to harm the man . . ." her voice was light. Teasing. She smiled in satisfaction as Borka looked up in surprise and laughed at the seemingly ridiculous statement. "There. You see. Borka isn't concerned about us being alone. I believe I have his trust."

"That wasn't what I meant, Maam," Reece pointed out, but quietly conceded her point. The woman had taken care of herself, and her people, for eighty yahrens.

"I wouldn't hurt her, Reece," Borka claimed. "She's here to help, after all."

"Yes, she is," Reece agreed, wondering if it was truly possible that Ama could help them. "All right, but I'll be keeping an eye on you."

Borka nodded, for a moment oddly unsure if the officer was speaking to him, or the therapist. Then he looked up into her grey eyes, felt her wizened hands grasp his own, and a strange sense of comfort began to overcome him. It was almost like being in the safety of his mother's arm once again.

"Take a deep breath, Borka, and relax . . ." After her metaphysical encounter with the evil presence that now seemed to have disappeared as mysteriously as it had descended upon them, this would be child's play.


	71. Chapter 71

_Sleep. You need sleep._

After everything Starbuck had been through in the last few days, nothing had left him feeling as utterly depleted as his debriefing with Commander Adama. Why was it that this man—of all men—could make him feel like a small child desperate to please? Even when he had already rationalized before hand that he wouldn't have done anything differently—and since no one was hurt as a result of his departure from the rules and regulations that he could live with the consequences and move on from the event—just _hearing _ that Adama was disappointed in him put a black cloud on his mood, and a bilious sensation in the pit of his stomach.

_Or it could be the lingering effects of the Obediator._

The abrupt change in the Commander's demeanor had been unsettling. Lords, if Adama had maintained his tyrannical tirade, he could have handled it better. A childhood spent in orphanages had made such a thing easy. He'd been prepared for that. Instead, his commanding officer had switched approaches, like a Cylon attack force, just about crippling the defenses that he had so carefully erected before the interview began.

_You damn near lost it, Bucko._

Somehow Adama could maneuver past that carefully constructed, seemingly impenetrable façade that the lieutenant had built up over a lifetime. The Commander didn't even _try_ to tear it down like other superior officers Starbuck had had. Instead, he slipped in undetected, like a cunning forest beast, devastating his defenses through . . . kindness.

_To sink so low . . . _

He reached forward, suddenly aware that the dispenser had long ago filled his mug with strong, hot java. Crossing the mess and heading towards his next meeting, he took a sip, grimacing at the bitterness, before taking another and willing it to start coursing through his veins. _Of course, you might have to digest it first . . ._

"Hey! What are you doing out of the Life Station?"

Starbuck put on his trademark smile, looking up to see Boomer stopped at the entrance. "Ah, the conquering heroes return. Good to see you, buddy." Within a micron, Apollo appeared beside him. "Wish I could have been there."

Boomer shook his head in amusement, reaching Starbuck's side in an instant, and then circling around him. "Did you get kicked out _again_?"

Starbuck chuckled recalling when he had been fired out of the health center by Dr. Salik for arranging a card game with the other patients. He cast a surreptitious look at Apollo before turning back to the lieutenant and protesting. "They have a full house. I was _officially _discharged."

"Well, I can see why you would be at the top of their list to get rid of," Boomer ribbed him, before taking a step forward and gripping his upper arm. "How are you holding up, Bucko?"

"Hey, what's a vicious death-trap of a pirate stronghold to an old war daggit like me?" Starbuck smiled, wincing slightly as Boomer's hand hit his recently singed flesh.

"Maybe more than you could handle?" Apollo suggested from behind as he joined them, his tone serious as he took in his friend's appearance. "You look like you should be in your bunk. Asleep."

"I think you have me confused with Boxey," Starbuck returned lightly. "Nice job out there, by the way."

"Well, we heard it was you who got Dayton to the Commander in time when he had realized his mistake. You're not so shabby yourself for a guy who passed out in his Viper." Boomer grinned. "Hey, we're going to report to the Commander and then we're heading to the OC. Why don't you meet us there?"

"Can't." Starbuck shook his head regrettably, taking another sip. He could already feel it taking effect; recharging the old fuel cells. Thank the Lords for javeine and the fact that it was still an acceptable_ and _legal drug, though Sire Dracus would probably try and do something about that as soon as he outlawed sports betting . . . "I really need to go see . . . Luana."

"How is she?" Apollo asked.

"Better. They expect a full recovery as far as her body goes, but her mind . . . she still doesn't remember much of what happened." He glanced at his chrono, taking another sip of the life-sustaining java. _Reinvigorating the Colonial Service for several millennia . . ._

"I need to talk to you later, Starbuck." Apollo told him, his tone promising it wouldn't be pleasant.

"Look, I just got dressed down by the Commander." Starbuck griped. "Can't we stagger the reprimands a bit?"

"Bucko . . ." Boomer warned him softly.

Starbuck looked between his two friends, Boomer obviously trying to act as mediator, and Apollo beginning to glower. He let out a deep breath, before taking the captain's arm and guiding him to the corridor.

"You want to do this here?" Apollo asked skeptically, standing to the side.

"Look . . . I know I owe you an apology." Starbuck interrupted him. "I probably shouldn't have tried to fly my own bird back to the _Galactica_."

"Probably?" Apollo asked, standing akimbo, eyebrows raised. "That's like saying Baltar _probably _shouldn't be so psychopathic, Starbuck."

Starbuck sighed, pushing his fingers through his hair before replying, "All right, I know that I put people at risk, not . . ._ admitting_ my limitations." He would never forget the moment he had awakened in his Viper, disoriented and about to hit his thrusters, only to find he had been magnetically attached to the shuttle and could have ripped both craft apart if he had followed his instincts. Thankfully, Dietra had intervened without a moment to lose.

"Yes, you did." Apollo agreed, studying his subordinate officer for a long moment before sighing. "Just tell me something. Did you actually _think_ you could do it when you stood there in that Earth shuttle and told me you were okay to fly? And didn't you say that you saw the med tech?"

Starbuck took a breath, opening his mouth, and then paused as indecision and hesitation flickered across his features. He lifted a hand and shrugged as he tried to come up with an answer that would satisfy his captain_. Sagan's sake, Bucko, did you leave your backbone on the asteroid?_ Then, as if it were a gift from heaven, the old Starbuck confidence buttressed his resolve.

"Of _course_ I meant it," he replied. "After all, I made it back in one piece, didn't I?" He locked eyes with his Strike Captain watching Apollo's lips tighten in a thin line of displeasure. "I wouldn't have_ tried _it if I didn't _know _I could make it. And I _did_ see the med tech."

"From the back of the shuttle, from what Giselle told me." Apollo pointed out. "Not what I meant when I asked if you'd been checked out."

"I actually don't recall you asking, if you want to get specific." Starbuck debated the point. "Besides . . . " he let out another deep breath, and then stepped forward, grasping the captain by the shoulder. "Apollo, how long have we known each other? I would think you'd know by now that I don't intentionally put people's lives at risk."

"Other than your own . . ." Apollo replied softly, shaking his head slightly.

"Calculated risk. You do it every day. So does Boomer. So do we all. The necessity of war." The lieutenant reminded him, dropping his arm.

Apollo nodded, then paused as the comm interrupted.

_Commander Mark Dayton, report immediately to the Life Station. Commander Mark Dayton, report immediately to the Life Station. _

"Frack, I wonder what that's about?" Starbuck muttered, his features darkening.

"Maybe his man woke up?" Apollo suggested. "What was his name?"

"Dickins," Starbuck supplied, as he turned to go. "I'd better go find out."

"Why?" Apollo asked, grabbing Starbuck's arm. "You really_ do _look like you should be getting some rest, buddy."

"Oh, right. You don't know." Starbuck grimaced. "Commander Adama made me the official liaison officer to Dayton's crew."

Apollo eyes opened wide in disbelief. "You? A liaison officer?"

"Yeah, I know." Starbuck rolled his eyes and added ruefully as he strode towards the Life Station. "After a secton or two of that, I'll be looking _forward_ to my assignment on the livestock ship."

The choked sound of Apollo's laughter echoed in his ears all the way down the corridor.

----------

Dayton bolted into the Life Station with Ryan hot on his heels. The place looked like some kind of overburdened field hospital, with women and children dressed in rags, their eyes filled with fear and desperation, everyone crying for attention and the health team racing to try and meet their needs. He looked around, trying to get the attention of one of the medical staff, when he saw a striking, blonde woman wearing the uniform that he had come to equate with a nurse as she stood cradling her arm.

"Excuse me, miss. I'm Commander Dayton. I was paged . . . "

It was clear from the woman's expression as she turned that she was having difficulty understanding his accent. He took a deep breath, slowed down, pulled out his new languatron and tried again.

Cassiopeia nodded at the Earthman a little curiously and then paused to glance at Ryan before replying. "This way Commander Dayton," and with that she turned on her heel and led him across the ward to their secured isolation room talking over her shoulder. "Your friend woke up and went ballistic. He tore out all of his tubes and even attacked our staff. We had to sedate him . . . after we caught him." She spoke clearly and slowly, making it easy for them to understand every word.

"Bloody hell . . ." Dayton muttered, realizing the young woman was likely one of the recipients of Dickins' attack as they paused at the door. The monitor above showed an unconscious Dickins being attended to by Dr. Paye. "I'm really sorry, ah . . . miss. That isn't really characteristic of his normal behavior. He's been through a lot. Please, don't think that he normally . . ."

"Commander, I'm Cassiopeia. I'm one of the med techs here." She told him, nodding compassionately as she gently touched his arm and stopped his apology. "We see it a lot here; reactions to trauma, post-operative delirium, combat stress of all kinds. And it's only exacerbated by the language barrier in Dickins' case."

"Where are Porter and Baker?" Ryan asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. "We thought they were here with Dickins."

"The other Earthmen?" Cassiopeia asked. "I'm afraid we've readmitted them with abdominal pain. Likely brought on by too much protein after thirty yahrens of eating almost nothing but complex carbohydrates."

Dayton glanced at Ryan, wondering why he hadn't been affected.

"I passed on the steak. Opted for the liquid diet, I'm afraid," Ryan murmured as if reading his mind, his words slightly slurred. "Besides, you should have seen the beef. Prime Rib, it wasn't."

"And here I was hoping for the Tex-Mex."

"I don't think they have a Taco Time around here."

"Cassiopeia!"

The three of them turned to see Starbuck crossing the Life Station, his gaze flickering to where Luana slept further away, before returning to them, finally settling on the med tech. "What happened? Are you okay?" Starbuck asked her, his concern evident as he indicated her arm.

"I'll be fine, Starbuck. One of the patients became combative. We had to sedate him." Cassie responded, pointedly taking a step back from him. "What happened to your shoulder?"

"Ah . . ." She rarely missed a thing. "A stray laser blast. It's nothing." He glanced at Commander Dayton, the man's eyes widening in realization.

"Was that . . . intended for me?" Dayton asked, now recalling the sound of a Colonial blaster during his encounter with the Security Officers as Starbuck tackled him. At the time he had assumed it had gone wide, never noticing the scorch marks on the lieutenant's flight jacket . . . or not giving any thought to how they had occurred_. Yeah, you were too busy wanting to rip his throat out to notice he'd just saved your sorry ass for the second time._

Starbuck barely shrugged in reply. "Since we're here, I might as well let you in on the good news." His expression disputed his words. "Commander Adama has assigned me to be your liaison officer."

Ryan smiled, genuinely pleased. "Ah, that's great, kid! Someone we've been through the trenches with." He patted the lieutenant fondly on the shoulder and then pulled him into a back slapping hug.

"Uh, what exactly does a liaison officer do?" Dayton asked, folding his arms across his chest, controlling his smirk with effort as the warrior tried to escape.

"Danged if I know," Starbuck replied with a chuckle, taking a step back from the effusive Ryan. "I expect I'm supposed to ease your transition into Fleet life. Introduce you around. Sign you up for Ethanolics Anonymous."

"Hmm. You might have a point." Dayton replied, handing the languatron over to his friend as he looked disapprovingly at the inebriated man.

"On that note, maybe I should return to the Officer's Club. I'd sure hate for that bottle of ambrosa I started to go unfinished." Ryan added, before shaking his head ruefully and leaning towards the med tech. "Cassiopeia, what can we do to help here?"

"I was hoping that one of you could be available to sit with him at all times. That way, when he wakes up, there will be someone here who's familiar to him. Hopefully, it will forestall another incident." She explained.

"Whatever it takes." Dayton agreed. "I'll take the first shift. Maybe you should go get that arm seen to, miss," he suggested to the med tech.

"Thank you for your concern, Commander Dayton" Cassie replied with a warm smile. She didn't miss the way Starbuck's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. She touched Dayton's hand lightly with her good hand. "Fortunately, modern medical technology will have me fixed up quickly."

Dayton nodded, noticing for the first time the startling blueness of her eyes. "Perhaps you wouldn't mind . . . explaining a little more about my friend's condition. I'd really like to hear more about his prognosis."

"Not at all, Commander . . ."

"Please, call me Mark . . ."

The resulting radiance of her smile seemed bright enough to light the Life Station. "Mark. Come with me and I'll update you while I get this attended to." She lightly put a hand on his arm to guide him, smiling again when he crooked his arm, and offered it to her with an old-fashioned chivalry that she hadn't seen since Cain. She called back over her shoulder as they walked away, "Lieutenant. Have Hinnus take a look at that shoulder before you leave. If you don't, I'll put you on report." Her tone of voice changed. "Now, your accent is delightful . . ."

Starbuck shook his head, quelling the irrational feelings of jealousy that were burning in his gut. _Or maybe it's just the java . . ._

"The Ex?" Ryan asked, putting a hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"How did you know that?" Starbuck asked, letting out a sigh and then looking towards Luana. Warm brown eyes gazed back at him sleepily, and she smiled at him, crooking her finger in invitation. He winked at her, holding up a finger to indicate he'd be a centon.

"She was playing you like a guitar string, son." Ryan grinned, chuckling when he spied where Starbuck's attention was currently. "Looks like she's an old hand at it too."

"I don't know exactly what you just said, but I definitely get your meaning." Starbuck grinned.

"Good lad. Stop by the OC later and I'll buy you a drink. Maybe teach you a little poker."

"Poke-her?" Starbuck asked, glancing at the languatron that Ryan was holding and then grinning wickedly. "Sounds like fun, but I don't think you'll get away with it in the OC."

"Wanna bet?" Ryan asked.

"Always," Starbuck replied.

"Then I'll see you later in the Officer's Club."

----------

"Where in Hades Hole have you been hiding that woman?" Reece asked, before Starbuck even had a chance to ask a question when he strode through the Security Office doors. "I still can't believe it. She's amazing."

"So, how did it go?" the lieutenant asked with a grin, glad his hunch had paid off. He had experienced first hand Ama's mysterious powers over the human mind, and if they could work to his benefit, he wasn't beyond utilizing every available card in his hand to bring the person responsible for Luana's injuries and Oriana's death to justice. And coincidentally, Ama was more than happy to assist.

"One word. Fausto." Reece replied.

"Fausto? Who the frack . . . ahh . . the Rising Star." Starbuck murmured, his interest piqued. "Doesn't he handle the bets in the Gaming Lounge? On and off the books?"

"You know him?" Reece asked in surprise, before nodding in sudden understanding. "Of course you'd know him."

"I know _of_ him. He handles the action for the Fleet, Reece." Starbuck shrugged in agreement. "I _have_ been known to place the odd legal bet, though I prefer to run my own." He grinned as the Blackshirt's features darkened, since it was one of _Reece's _jobs to prevent such unregulated events.

"You can't help but bait a guy, can you?" Reece asked, shaking his head.

"Old habits, I guess."

"Yeah, well, try to curtail them." Reece told him. "One of these days, you'll wisecrack yourself into a long stretch in the can, Starbuck. Anyway, I don't know if you've put it together, but that whole triad scandal is what got them into this."

"I figured Luana was trying to . . . clear my reputation." Hades, he_ knew_ it. Luana had been even more angry than him when he'd been accused of throwing games.

"Ah, the ironies of life." Reece ribbed him. "Your . . . reputation."

Starbuck raised his eyebrows, considering the other. "You have a few habitual character flaws of your own, you know."

"I'll try and control myself." The Security Officer smirked, motioning to the chair beside him.

"See that you do." Starbuck told him, taking a seat. "Ama's gone?"

"Yeah, she said she'd catch up with you later. She didn't want to be here when they took Borka and Kaden to Tribunal." Reece explained as he pulled up Fausto's personal file on his data banks. "They're gone by the way."

"If ever there was a time I'd like to see that porcine spell realized . . ." Starbuck muttered bitterly.

"I'll bet." Reece nodded, taking in the other's dark glower. "But, barring the unknown, in a few centars it'll be over. Kaden will be shipped off to the Prison Barge, and Borka will be a free man, doing community service as part of a reduced sentence. By the way, this is confidential."

"I know. I'd like to do the community a service and . . ." He stopped as the other's eyes warned him not to continue down that path. Starbuck sighed. "Okay, let's see what we've got."

Fausto, fifty-six yahrens old, born and bred on Skorpia. Father Ogden, career criminal, three arrests, two convictions for loan sharking and larceny, spent four yahrens in prison for the latter. Mother Pulcheria, former Miss Skorpia and lounge singer. Fausto was orphaned at the age of sixteen when his parents were killed in a Cylon raid on Sargas. There was a several yahren lapse in his record and then he turned up once again in Sargas, where he built a career in bookmaking and gaming chanceries, managing several before ultimately taking the position for organizing professional sporting events at the Dragon's Eye.

"Jackpot . . ." Starbuck murmured.

"What?" Reece asked. "I remember Borka's file says he worked there, can't recall doing what . . ."

"It doesn't actually say." Starbuck added, noting Reece's look of surprise. The Blackshirt hadn't realized he had helped himself to Borka and Kaden's files when the password was available to him the last time he was in their office. Lords, that was when they were first questioning Oriana . . . days ago now . . . "Fausto was heading up the sports action at the Dragon's Eye yahrens ago when Metal Arc and Curl Lee were exposed for throwing games in the play offs. I remember it was a big scandal at the time. Several prominent players and promoters either disappeared or turned up dead. Street talk at the time had it that the Organization, the crime syndicate that Darius headed up, was somehow involved, but who knows?"

"Triad?" Reece asked.

"Of course, triad." Starbuck snorted. "The annual Colonial Championship Match was played on Skorpia that yahren. Did you live under a rock?"

"Just was never a big triad fan back then." Reece shrugged. "But you weren't approached by these candidates for sainthood to throw a game . . . I'm assuming."

"No." Starbuck agreed, his face a mask of bewilderment. "I wonder how he's pulling it off?"

Reece nodded. "Well, Borka also gave Ama the name of a . . . what in Hades Hole did she call him . . . " His face twisted in concentration. "Something about an Archimagus. She wasn't too impressed when Borka gave up his name, that's for sure."

"What's his name?"

Reece checked his data pad. "Myrddin."

Starbuck slowly shook his head. "Doesn't mean anything to me. He's probably Empyrean though. They have an Archimage Society. Sagan, I wish she had stuck around to fill us in on this. Where did she go?"

"I don't know. She did say that this Myrddin was involved in some fashion with the triad scandal, but I don't think Borka explained how. She was able to get one word answers out of him more consistently than complete thoughts or ideas. Almost like he was trying to . . . mentally fight her." He could still remember the sweat on Borka's brow as he strained while under Ama's apparent control. The awesome power of the Necromancer's talents was a little bit scary. No wonder her people honoured and respected her so.

"So . . . did Fausto order Lu and Oriana's terminations, and if so, why? Surely not because of some triad scam?"

"Again, I'm not certain. And keep in mind that confessions gained by mind reading aren't exactly admissible in a Colonial Tribunal." Reece pointed out.

"I'm beginning to think there is something inherently wrong with our judicial system." Starbuck muttered. "Too many pieces of Boray mong end up walking."

Reece chuckled. "What, you'd like to have mind readers decide a person's fate, rather than a Tribunal?"

"Would sure as Hades save a lot of time, grief and cubits." Starbuck smiled, imagining a string of criminals being taken before Ama, awaiting her judgment. _Freedom. Porcine. Empyrean Curse. Lightening bolt._

Reece snorted, "You might have a point actually." He paused, considering the other for a moment. "Would you consider running it by Ensign Luana? Maybe some of this would jog her memory?"

"_No_!" he returned abruptly.

"Take it easy, Starbuck. It was just a suggestion. Hades hole, if she could just remember something . . ."

"I don't want her involved in this, Reece. I don't want anything interfering with her getting better."

"Are you sure it would interfere? Maybe it would help?"

Starbuck's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Oh, sorry. You must have forgotten to mention to me that you'd gone back and taken your medical certificate while I was on the asteroid base."

"Okay, okay. I get it." Reece held his hands up before him. "Fine. It was just a suggestion. Apparently, a bad one."

Starbuck nodded. "Anything else?"

"That's what we've got. We need to follow up with this Myrddin guy and see how he fits in with Fausto." Reece paused, studying the warrior for a moment. "You know that we probably won't get Fausto on willful termination charges, don't you?"

Starbuck nodded. "I know. But we'll still get him. We need to get inside Fausto's operation. If he was astrum deep in illegal betting in the Colonies, you can bet he is here too. And that's probably just scratching the surface. I'm willing to bet his activities run deeper than that. We'll nail him."

"You're assuming a lot."

"Maybe." He smiled, pulling a fumarello from his jacket and chewing on it for a moment. "But you have to go with your instincts."

"Well, they seem to have served you well, both in and out of a cockpit. So, what are they telling you?"

"To go to the OC." Starbuck grinned, as he stood to go.

"Great." Reece griped in disbelief. "Just when I thought we were getting somewhere."

"You might be surprised at the sort of info that gets spread around in bars. It's almost as good as being hooked up to a computer database." He stopped to light his fumarello. "Someone else in the Fleet, I'm betting even on the _Galactica_, knows something that we need to know. Besides, I had an idea about an 'in' for the chancery. I need to follow up a lead. I'm just . . . "

"Following your instincts," Reece finished for him.

"Affirmative. Kicking in my turbos." And, so said, he was gone.

----------

"When a man peers into a glass of ambrosa that closely, he's either looking for answers, or he's looking to forget the questions."

The voice startled Ryan out of his reverie. Surprisingly, it was Starbuck. Somehow those cynical words coming out of the youthful warrior, so full of piss and vinegar, just seemed _wrong_. Then again, his people had been at war for a millennium, so perhaps it was to be expected.

Ryan motioned to the empty seat across from him as he looked around the Officer's Club. After checking in on Porter and Baker in the Sick Bay . . uh, Life Station, and seeing Dayton settled in as duty sentry for the delirious Dickins, he had returned to this rather commodious watering hole as planned. Somehow though, now that he wasn't wondering if every breath was going to be his last, his former effusive mood had been drastically depleted. In fact, he was feeling decidedly 'Eeyore-like' in nature.

"I didn't think you'd show up." Ryan murmured. For courtesy's sake he had brought two glasses and a bottle of ambrosa to this table at the back of the room. After speaking at some length with the barkeep, and hoping that the Languatron thingy wasn't making hash out of his attempt, ambrosa seemed to be the closest thing the fellow had to a sixteen year old Lagavulin. He poured another shot and pushed it across to the warrior.

"I _always _show up." Starbuck raised his glass to the other before taking a sip. "Not bad."

"You mean there _is_ better?" Ryan asked, recalling that the Commander seemed to have a smoother, more flavourful ambrosa in his personal stock.

"Oh, yeah. This is bar stock. Mostly what the supply officer loaded up on, right before we shipped out for the Armistice. Not bad, but not the nectar of heaven either. They keep the good stuff in the back." He replied, drawing deeply on his fumarello.

"How do we _get_ the good stuff?"

Starbuck smiled, getting up and wandering over to the bar. Ryan watched as the lieutenant motioned the barkeep over and then leaned forward slightly, engaging him. Apparently, Starbuck was a man who knew how to get what he wanted. Ryan couldn't help but be impressed as Starbuck chatted up the man, motioning over to Ryan and apparently discussing the Earthman at some length, all the time remaining relaxed and friendly. The barkeep smiled knowingly, disappeared into the small room behind the bar for a moment, and when he returned it was to hand over the coveted bottle of ambrosa. Starbuck grinned, slapping the man on the shoulder in gratitude, slipping a few cubits into his hand, and then heading back to the table.

"Complements of the Commander," Starbuck murmured as he sat, placing two clean glasses in front of Ryan and pouring out a shot for each.

"Oh?" Ryan chuckled. "Is Commander Adama aware of that?"

"Hey, I figure a liaison officer should have an allowance for . . . _liaising_. I've just started a tab for the Earth Liaison Officer." He grinned. "After all, we shouldn't be feeding our Earth brothers the gut rot that they ration out to the ranks."

Ryan raised his glass to his lips, and took a sip. "Ahh! Now that's good." He leaned forward watching the warrior likewise enjoy a drink before adding, "Listen, kid. I'm not sure why Dayton didn't say anything in the Life Station, but I appreciate you looking out for him. Taking that laser blast in the shoulder. You've risked your neck a couple times for him—for us—and I just want to let you know that _I_ won't forget it. Anything you ever need . . ."

Starbuck took another sip of his ambrosa, smiling at the man as he pulled out another fumarello, holding it out to the other. "Excluding minor surgery?"

"Preferably." Ryan agreed with a dry laugh, shaking his head at the cigar regretfully. Thirty years of non-smoking was a damn good record considering. "I'm trying to cut down."

"Have you thought about what you're going to do now?" Starbuck asked, leaving the unlit smoke on the table. He sat back in his chair, relaxed and contemplative, yet with _something_ lurking in his eyes.

"How do you mean?"

"Well, you're still a _relatively_ young man. . ."

"Thanks a helluva lot." Ryan shot back with a grin as he took another sip. He liked this kid.

"Well I meant it. Our average lifespan, provided the Cylons don't get us, is around two-hundred yahrens or so."

The ambrosa spewed from his mouth. "You're shitting me!" Ryan exclaimed, his eyes wide with amazement as he wiped his chin.

Starbuck shook his head, "Give me that thing!" and grabbed the languatron, once again looking at the translation in complete bewilderment and a little disgust. "Bloody electronic felgercarb . . ." he murmured. "No, I'm definitely not . . . shitting you. Don't even want to think about it. You're how old?"

"On Earth, I'd be just shy of sixty-eight. Assuming our years . . .yahrens, are close to the same length."

"Well, we can work that out later. Even so, you aren't exactly ready for the cemetery yet."

"Still, on Earth, the average lifespan is a lot shorter. I'm talkin' 'vertically challenged' shorter. About eighty on the average, depending on the availability of health care, nutrition, socio-economic status, sex, and a few other factors."

"Eighty? What in Hades Hole do you _do_ to yourselves?" Starbuck asked bluntly, shaking his head. "I mean, I can see you looking a bit old after thirty yahrens of imprisonment and torture, not to mention that . . . " he shivered at the mere memory, "rotting root. But only living to eighty?"

"I don't know." Ryan shrugged, then he smiled mischievously. "Maybe the ambrosa gives you longevity."

"Maybe." Starbuck chuckled, filling their glasses once more and then raising his to Ryan. "Long life."

"Health."

Starbuck topped them up once more, becoming aware that the Earthman had the capacity of the average squadron of greenhorns after their first solo flights. "Just think about the possibilities, Ryan. There could be a pile of cubits to be made." Starbuck suggested carefully. "A man has to plan for his future."

Ryan sat forward considering the lieutenant over his glass. His future—or lack of it—had been on his mind when the lieutenant had first approached him. Just what did an old astronaut, that technology had left behind, _do_ when he found himself penniless and homeless on the doorstep of another race of man? _Whatever they tell you, Paddy._

Well, he had been doing exactly that for the last thirty years as a prisoner and virtual slave and he'd be damned if he was going to do it for another thirty. So, this proposal—or whatever it was—couldn't have come at a better time. "Go on."

"I have a few ideas." Starbuck told him, topping up their glasses. "First of all, since we basically saved your astrums, you have to give something back to the Fleet. They're going to expect that. If you wait long enough, they'll demand it. And it has to be pro bono publico."

Ryan nodded.

"Earth Studies. People want to know all about Earth. About your civilization, traditions, history, culture. Your science and technology, compared to ours."

"Compared to you guys," Ryan said, gesturing at the Battlestar around them, "we're still peddling tricycles with training wheels as far as space travel and propulsion goes, Starbuck."

"Yeah, maybe. But you aren't a bunch of flint-knapping cave-dwellers either. A lot of us were afraid that that was what we would find on Earth, if we ever actually got there. You may not have built Battlestars yet, but you have the higher math and theoretical knowledge to understand wormhole theory. Case in point, you're here. And that shuttle you flew isn't some log raft. Don't sell yourselves short."

"Vertically challenged. Get with the program, son." Ryan grinned, his eyes crinkling with amusement as Starbuck once again reached for the languatron and shook his head, tossing onto the seat next to him. "I'm just being realistic. You guys must be centuries ahead of us."

"Possibly, but that doesn't lessen the interest folks are going to have in you. Now,

I could see a series being produced for the IFB—that's Interfleet Broadcasting—and that way everyone in the Fleet would have access to the information. Set it up with some interviews. Public appearances. Lecturing our kid's instructional periods even. Remember, these are just a few initial ideas we could develop on."

It was like he was throwing a line to a drowning man. One who had been starved, beaten and trod on. Not only that, Starbuck was suggesting they _educate_ his people. That would be a bloody dream job after harvesting koivee, even if it was a little tame for an astronaut. Still, he could start using his brain again. That in itself was like finding the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. "We had some DVD's . . ." Ryan paused when he saw Starbuck shake his head in bewilderment. "There was a collection of digitally recorded data _discs_ . . . documentaries, encyclopedias, movies, animation, cultural reflections of Earth from various points of view, some of them being purely there for the entertainment value, you understand."

The excitement on the younger man's face showed that he clearly did. "You actually have . . . holovids—live pictures—of Earth?" Starbuck asked in astonishment.

"Did have. In the Space Shuttle. They were to be added to the Space Station's library. Jesus Murphy, I'd be surprised if much of it survived though," the Earthman added, remembering how he had seen pieces of the _Endeavour _spread around that asteroid base—mostly used as salvage—as if it had been part of the strewn out wreckage of an immense crash. "Those bastards pretty well ripped everything we had to shreds."

"There was still a lot of junk lying around the shuttle when I was in there. It's hard to say . . . I'll check it out, Ryan. Lords, if we could have holovids . . . " Starbuck's face shone with excitement. "I mean, the only data in our own records that we have on Earth is ancient. As in over seven thousand yahrens old." He nodded as Ryan whistled. "A few references in _The Book of the Word really_. That's it. But if we could show people current, or near-current, images of Earth, with Earthmen commenting on them. Hades, that's a start anyway."

"What else did you have in mind?" Ryan asked. So far there didn't seem to be a lot of money to be made on this little venture, and while the Commander had fronted each of them a few cubits from the ship's vault, none of them were exactly in a salaried position.

"You started to tell me about 'Poke-her'. I was wondering, would this 'Poke-her' be an appropriate game for a chancery?"

Ryan chuckled. "Appropriate? Hell, yeah! It's a card game, based on probability and chance, although skill and memory also play a part in it. On Earth, entire cities have literally been built on the revenues generated from poker, Starbuck."

"Are there any other card games that your people wagered on?"

"Quite a few." He smirked. "Just what are you up to?"

"Hey, when the people of the Fleet hear that we have Earthmen aboard the _Galactica_, it's going to be pandemonium. Anything from Earth will be a hot commodity. Sagan's sake, the merchandising alone could be worth a fortune! Now, just imagine if we show up at the _Rising Star_—that's our ship that houses the best restaurant in the Fleet, luxurious state rooms, snob-class quarters, the triad courts for the playoff games, as well as our main gambling chancery—and we bring a few new 'easy to learn' Earth games that they can institute to kick off . . . their _Journey to Earth_ section." His enthusiasm was contagious. "You'd need a front man to negotiate a percentage, for a part of the cut, of course, but the future revenues on that alone should set you all up for an easy retirement if it's done right."

"Yeah, but will it get me snob quarters on the _Rising Star_?" Ryan asked in amusement as he studied the younger man. "You've really given this some thought, eh? What else?"

"Autobiographies, endorsements, advertising . . . we're only limited by our imaginations." Starbuck replied with a smug smile.

"And you would be our front man, I assume. For a part of the cut, of course." Ryan asked knowingly.

"Actually, I had someone else in mind for that." Starbuck replied wryly. "I'm already in Commander Adama's bad books. He'd have me scraping space grunge off the _Galactica _and repainting her with my toothbrush if he found out I was setting this up."

"So what's your angle?" Ryan asked, sitting forward and lowering his voice instinctively.

"Well, it actually takes us full circle. I need some help," he admitted.

"I already told you, kid. Anything you need." Ryan reiterated. "I mean it. I owe you. Hell's Bells, we all do."

Starbuck winced slightly, "It could be . . . dangerous."

"Lord thundering Jesus, I was hoping you'd say that. I wasn't quite ready to retire." Ryan grinned widely, reaching for the abandoned fumarello and leaning forward as Starbuck offered him a light. He puffed away on the stogie as he sat back in his chair. "Hey, that's not bad for space weed. You sure you haven't been to Havana?"

"Have who?" he asked, not missing a beat.

Ryan laughed, "Okay, tell me your troubles, son."


	72. Chapter 72

It had been some time since Starbuck had been on the Senior Ship. Probably too long, he reflected. However, despite the strange connection and almost eerie similarities between himself and Chameleon, he simply didn't have a lot of spare time to spend with the aging conman.

It was Chameleon, he realized, that had time and time again made the effort to contact _him_. And on occasion, they had met up on the Rising Star for a night of gambling, comparing and dissecting various and sundry 'systems' with which to beat the House. The older man took a serious interest in Starbuck's life—a little too serious at times, in the lieutenant's opinion, since they were only friends—and at times the probing questions about career goals and marriage plans had almost seemed intrusive, causing Starbuck to remark on one occasion, "Chameleon, you're not my father, so do me a favour and stop _acting_ like you are."

That was probably the real reason he had found himself increasingly reluctant to give up his precious and rare spare time in favour of spending it with Chameleon. That occasional probing, which made Starbuck realize he wasn't really getting any further ahead—usually in regard to his relationship with Cassiopeia—just wasn't something he equated with a good time out with a friend, and he'd just as soon pass altogether. As a result, as time elapsed, he was more likely to decline the conman's suggestions of get-togethers. Then, after the Imperial Empyreans had joined the Fleet, and his duties had expanded to include cadet training—not to mention his ventures with Empyrean Ale and Tobacconists, as well as triad—well, his spare time had virtually ceased to exist.

He hit the entry chime, waiting patiently for the door to slide open to reveal Siress Blassie. As always, the woman was elegance personified, her gown utterly impeccable and of the latest style—in the old-lady circles anyhow—and not a hair out of place. She seemed to carefully control her features before drawing in a breath and smiling in welcome.

"Lieutenant Starbuck, how delightful to see you." She stood aside and with a grand waft of fabric, motioned for him to enter.

"Good to see you too, Siress." Starbuck smiled, looking around the small quarters noticing immediately that those few personal touches—those that she had reluctantly allowed Chameleon when they, or rather _she,_ had decided to cohabitate—seemed to be conspicuously absent. _Where the heck is the 'Daggits Playing Pyramid' painting? A real work of art. _He sighed. _ Not a good sign. _"Uh . . . do you happen to know where Chameleon is?"

"Well . . ." she smiled again, though her lips tightened slightly. "I believe he's found new quarters once again. Gamma Deck, Room Thirty-Six. You'd be more likely to find him in the Center though."

"I'm . . . sorry to hear that , Siress Blassie." He paused, noting the proud tilt of her chin. "The Center? You don't mean the Life Center, do you?" He felt a sudden rush of anxiety.

Blassie, seeming to sense his unease, shook her head, "No. He's fine, at least health-wise." A rueful smile, that reflected a lesson hard learned. "I meant the Senior's Center. He's turned it into quite the social hotspot, at least for Seniors. But, I suppose, at least it's keeping him out of trouble. Real trouble anyways." She smiled once again, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Ahh . . ." He _really_ didn't want to know. He moved towards the door, speaking as he went. "Thanks for your help, Siress. I'm sorry . . . things didn't work out."

"Well, I suppose it's true what they say about old daggits and new tricks," she smiled wanly as he disappeared into the corridor.

Chameleon and Blassie. The Lady and the Scoundrel. Starbuck grinned as he headed down the hallway. Chameleon's eviction wasn't all that surprising, and when Blassie had told him the story of how the two had met on the shuttle to the _Rising Star_, the very same night Starbuck had made the man's acquaintance, he couldn't help but wonder if there was something the older man was after from the Siress, other than her still considerable charms.

Not that Chameleon didn't pride himself on making his own way through life. He had never asked for Blassie's financial support. Ever. Not one red quantum. But her status, and connections throughout the Fleet, had probably paved the way for several other ventures that the conman had taken on, or so Starbuck had heard via the rumour mill. Yeah, Adama could threaten the conman all he wanted, it had only made him downscale his cons to a level where they wouldn't draw the Commander's attention.

The first thing that Starbuck noticed as he walked into the Senior's Center was the missing Daggit painting centered over the card table, tucked away into a corner of the room, near the bar. The second was Chameleon, right below the painting, raking in a pile of cubits surrounded by a group of gentlemen of his own generation.

"It appears the Goddess Fortuna was with me yet again, gentlemen," Chameleon murmured, almost apologetically as he began sweeping the cubits into his pouch.

"She usually is, Chameleon," one of them belly-ached good naturedly as they rose from their chairs and moved towards the bar. "I sometimes suspect her of getting kickbacks from you."

"Or maybe she's your mother," chuckled another. "After all, you look like you're about the right age to be her spawn."

"Jealous!" smiled Chameleon, cinching up the pouch.

"No, just poor," laughed the first.

"This round's on me, Velius." Chameleon added to the barkeep, his gaze swinging towards the young warrior who was striding his way, even as his circle of friends chuckled their appreciation for his gesture and javas were poured all around in accordance with the early centar of the day. The old conman's features lit up with delight as he climbed to his feet. "Starbuck, well . . . what a wonderful surprise. You're looking . . . abused." His eyes raked the younger man curiously. "Rough assignment?"

"A little trouble on a mission. It's nothing really." Starbuck assured him as he clasped hands with the man. "I stopped by Siress Blassie's quarters. She told me I'd find you here."

"Ah." Chameleon almost seemed to squirm in discomfort for a moment as a myriad of facial expressions crossed his features before he again took a seat. "Yes, well, unfortunately I do have to check in with her, since she's still . . . in _charge_ of my . . . rehabilitation." He raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah, and . . . uh . . . how's that going?" Starbuck smiled ruefully, grabbing a still-warm chair, and sitting across from him. "Rehab."

"Well, the Senior's Center is the culmination of my efforts." Chameleon indicated the room proudly. "Cards, dancing, raffles, theme parties—the lady's auxiliary is starting up an arts and crafts centar twice a week . . ." He shrugged suddenly, "I'm sure it probably sounds more than a little dull to a warrior of your distinction."

"No, not at all. It all helps the morale of the Fleet. That's as important as any Viper patrol." Starbuck assured him, recognizing the sudden _look_ on the conman's face and just waiting . . .

"Well, I'm not sure whether to congratulate you on your sudden betrothal to this Empyrean Princess, or to ask you why you're being accused of accepting bribes in triad." Chameleon smiled lightly, though his underlying concern was evident. He noted Starbuck's raised brow and intake of breath, then changed tack. "Hey, this is the Senior Ship, not the 'Senile' Ship. We still hear things . . . even without hearing aides." With a wry smile, he gestured to the monitor over the bar, the IFB now the focus of his card group, and nodded at Starbuck to continue.

Starbuck sniffed, his sudden annoyance at Chameleon's judgmental tone diminished by the conman's humour. "It's a long story, but . . . " he paused, sighing, "that's actually why I'm here. I was hoping to. . . well . . ." He shrugged slightly and cleared his throat. "I . . . uh, need some help, Chameleon. And a man of your . . . _talents _would really come in handy."

Chameleon smiled, strangely pleased. "Anything you need, Starbuck."

Starbuck hesitated, just a little uncomfortable that though so much time had elapsed since they had last seen each other, that the other was so eager to help. "Uh . . . don't you want to know what I'm after before you agree to help?"

"My boy, whatever you need, whenever you need it, I'll always be here for you. That's what a . . . _friends_ are for." Chameleon told him, his expression solemn for a brief moment, then he smiled, a gleam of excitement coming into his old eyes, as he leaned forward. "Now having said that, tell me just what we're up against."

----------

It was like being back in Miniature World as a child with his face pressed up against the glass, as Dayton peered through the porthole of Dickins' isolation room in the _Galactica_'s Life Station. He just couldn't fathom that the couple hundred or so ships of all shapes, sizes and designations housed the remains of the twelve Colonies of man from another solar system so far from his own. They looked more like the usual badly fabricated models that Hollywood once used to film the cheesy science fiction TV series of old, than actual space vehicles capable of carrying the survivors of the Cylon genocide all the way to Earth.

_ Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!_

"Did you hear me?"

Dayton nodded ever so slightly, shaking his head as his gaze flickered from ship to ship. "Doesn't this astound you? Doesn't it make you want to just stand back for a minute and take it all in? I mean, how are they powered? Their flight control systems. What kind of propulsion do they have? What's their maximum speed? Hell, they have engines that can exceed the speed of light, Paddy. For crying out loud, Einstein must be turning over in his grave. I mean. . ."

A sharp clap on the shoulder startled him and he turned to see Ryan regarding him impatiently. "What?"

"What do you have against Starbuck? He saved your miserable hide twice. You owe him." Ryan told him, his features tense, his tone short.

"He doesn't trust me. Why would he want my help?" Dayton asked after a moment, rubbing burning, tired eyes. The NASA Commander had catnapped throughout the 'night' as he kept watch over Dickins. The captain had awakened three times in varying degrees of panic and confusion, but each time had settled increasingly easier with a familiar face and voice at his side. The word from the Doc was that Dickins was going to pull through. So was Rooke. Even Baker and Porter were recovered from their brief episode of gastric upset. "Are you sure he's not trying to set us up somehow?"

Ryan looked out the door at the med tech passing by. "Excuse me, miss?" He waved her down. "Do you have any pills for 'stupid'?" he asked in exasperation, jerking a thumb in Dayton's direction. She paused to consider his words, a bewildered expression on her features. He gave her a departing wink, gently closing the door, then turned back to his friend. "Yeah, he's trying to set us up _financially _so we aren't slaves to the Colonials for our _next_ thirty years. Didn't that ever enter your mind? From one servitude to another. We're kind of at their mercy right now, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Why do _you_ trust him?" Dayton asked almost feeling a little betrayed that his best friend was going to bat for the young warrior. "What _is_ it about him, Paddy?"

Ryan sniffed. "I would have thought it was obvious. He's a dead ringer for you when I first met you." Dayton opened his mouth, but Paddy waved him silent. "Admit it, Mark Same attitude. Same insufferable ego. Same ox-brained determination. You two are like peas in a pod." He moved over to stand beside the sedated Dickins. "Besides, Starbuck told me what happened to his lady." He shook his head in silence a moment. "Hell, I'd be doing the same if I was in his place. This Borka guy, or whatever, sounds like he needs to have his head stuffed and hung on a wall somewhere. An understudy from the Bex school of charm."

"Why didn't he ask his friends then? Huh?" Dayton asked, crossing his arms over his chest, once again looking out to space at the immense Fleet. "I mean, he's spent his whole career serving with _them_. Surely they would be more likely to see it his way."

"Who cares? He asked _us_. I said 'yes'." Ryan spoke softly, but clearly. "You _owe_ him. We _all _do."

"I know."

"Damned right you know. If it weren't for him, we'd all still be Bex's playthings, wondering from minute to minute whether the Obediator was going to get a workout because he'd had a bad day again. We owe Starbuck. Let's show him what the Earth branch of the family is made of, eh?"

Dayton sighed, turning to his friend, nodding. "I'm in."

----------

While the _Rising Star_ had the reputation for housing the elite of the elite, the _Maxidex_ Freighter was just as well known for sheltering the opposite; the downtrodden, delinquent, and just plain criminal, making it the next obvious stop on Starbuck's travels. He slung his pack over his shoulder which carried his uniform, knowing that that the anonymity of the black pants and tunic he was now wearing, as well as his wetted down and slicked back hair, would be appreciated by his childhood friend.

He wrinkled his nose at the offensive smell of ammonium, along with other, even less pleasing aromas permeating the corridor, and then paused as he sensed, rather than saw, the listless body curled on the deck at the side of the corridor, the lack of lighting in this section almost causing him to miss it. He moved closer and nudged the form with his boot, asking, "You alive?"

No response. He gave the body another nudge, this time a little harder, but the lump before him simply flopped back into place when he removed his boot.

_Guess you're going to have to touch him._ He sighed, kneeling down and covering his mouth and nose as the aroma of vomit, urine and fecal matter overwhelmed him, making his eyes water. He squinted, despite the dim light. _Just don't be dead, pal. If you're dead, then I'm going to have to report it, and then everyone is going to want to know just what the new Liaison Officer is doing on the Maxidex. _

He shook his head, wondering if his lack of concern at the stranger's condition was a reflexive reaction to feeling as though he had been sucked back through a vortex, back to a time when he had spent sectars on the streets of Caprica City as a teen. Lords, how many bodies had he stepped over back then? Overdoses and suicides were common. Terminations were too. A guy would kill you for a warm jacket and a pair of waterproof shoes, or the latest fashion cool sunglasses you happened to be wearing. He shook off the fetid memories, palpating the carotid pulse that was racing, but present.

"Just keep breathing, kid." Starbuck murmured, turning the body onto its back to stare at the face of a man, not much younger than himself. He screwed up his face in revulsion as he checked the thin arms for hypo marks, then picked up the surprisingly light form, throwing it over his shoulder, and headed to the closest shelter. He'd drop the kid off and then go see Cepheus.

----------

"I now call to order this meeting of the Council of Twelve," Adama raised his voice above the din that had already occupied the chamber the centon before when he had entered. The noise invariably settled to a more polite buzz as he took his seat. "I trust you've all had the opportunity to view Captain Dorado's debriefing scans?"

He'd barely had time himself. After dealing with the events surrounding the pirate asteroid mission and finally lying down for a scant few centars sleep during the night, he felt as old as Lord Sagan himself. But lack of sleep was not new to the Commander, and after a career that at times seemed to be based on sleep deprivation, he prided himself on being able to function for days on end on a goodly supply of grit and java.

"Yes, Adama." Sire Dracus returned, bowing his head in agreement, a smile upon his face. "The discovery of the _Pegasus' _survival—not to mention that of the great Commander Cain—couldn't have come at a better time to lift the spirits of our people."

"Not downplaying the significant morale boost provided by the upcoming Empyrean Imperial Wedding of Princess Luana and Lieutenant Starbuck, of course." Domra returned with a snide grin, his eyes searching out Siress Tinia.

"Perhaps you are unaware, Sire Domra, that _Ensign_ Luana was almost killed in an incident which resulted in the death of one woman, and saw a man sent to the Prison Barge for willful termination." Adama interjected sternly.

"Uh . . . I . . . wasn't informed apparently," Domra stammered, indignation in his voice. He rattled his fingertips on the table top in obvious ire.

"The information, as well as official Tribunal records, were both forwarded to all Council members, since it could certainly have an effect on the recent Empyrean Conflict, the wedding being a symbol of hope to the Empyrean people." She held Domra's gaze for a few microns. "Fortunately, although the Ensign is looking at a prolonged recovery period, Doctor Salik informs me that she _is_ doing better than expected." Tinia informed them, nodding at Adama for his support.

"And the ceremony _will_ be going ahead?" Sire Dracus asked, the doubt in his voice clear as he looked down distractedly over his datapad.

"Of course. _After_ the proper betrothal period of a yahren." Tinia smiled. "You cannot plan an event of this magnitude in a sectar."

"Perhaps the Lieutenant and Princess would see fit to move the date forward, considering the boost it would provide to her people, on a more . . . cultural level." Dracus recommended, though it seemed more of a dare than a legitimate suggestion.

"The Empyreans are a _very _traditional people, Sire Dracus. I believe that even your good friend, Sire Regus—of the recently dissolved Empyrean Quorum—would tell you that they hold their ancient traditions above all else. The ceremony will occur a yahren to the day of the announcement. It is their way." Tinia explained patiently, a glint in her eye that Dracus' supporter had lost his stronghold within Empyrean Society.

"Sire Regus and I are merely acquaintances." Dracus clarified with a sniff. "Fellow travelers in the arena of public service, Siress Tinia."

"I see." Tinia returned in monotone. "As are we all, Sire."

"Not to demean the importance of Empyrean frippery," Sire Geller said in a tone that managed to do just that. "But I believe the focus of this meeting was the survival of the _Pegasus_ and just what that means to the Fleet."

"Well, Captain Dorado was quite clear when he said that Commander Cain has appointed himself the protector of the Colonial people—from a distance—and that he had no plans to reunite with the _Galactica_, preferring instead to continue to attack and provoke the Cylons, hit and run style, whenever possible leading them away from the Fleet." Adama reiterated.

"A sound plan, since we have indeed not seen the Cylons for some sectars." Sire Feo reminded them.

"For which I believe we should all be thankful," said Sire Montrose. "The Lords continue to watch over us."

"Yes, though not knowing that Cain was out there, has caused a certain amount of complacency . . . " Adama paused, "at least in bureaucratic circles. I believe that there has even been a proposal of once again settling on a habitable planet, in the mistaken belief that we have left the Cylons behind for good."

"Well, Commander Adama, you must understand that it is a challenge to the best of men, not to mention the commoners, to continue on a path towards a destination that is in fact largely legend." Sire Feo inserted, all of them aware that his own pre-election platform suggested 're-examining the issue of possible settlement to those courageous enough in nature to embark on such a pioneering adventure'. "And now with the _Pegasus _. . ."

"Sire Feo, you know as well as the rest of us that we have several indications that Earth is as real as the Twelve Worlds." Tinia interrupted. "It is not, by any stretch of the imagination, a myth."

"But perhaps just as inhospitable." Domra inserted. "As I suspect Sire Feo was about to say, with the Pegasus out there misleading the Cylons and essentially being our guardian angels, the time is perfect to consider resettlement. With the _Galactica_ as a primary defense, and the _Pegasus_ and Cain guarding our backyard, so to speak, the timing couldn't be better."

"Sire Domra, as long as the Cylons are pursuing us, we must keep moving. The decision to settle on _any_ planet . . ." He paused thinking of Dayton's words, and then the Earthman's subsequent threatening actions and his own suspicions surrounding the events, also partially based on Starbuck's attack on Dayton. He sighed, ". . . perhaps even including Earth, could mean possible suicide. Knowing that the _Pegasus_ is out there is an inspiration to us all certainly, but it also confirms that we have _not_ left our enemy behind. I now believe we either need to destroy the Cylons, or confirm beyond doubt that we _have_ truly left them behind forever."

"Adama, we could argue this back and forth, and at the end of the day we would be no further ahead." Sire Anton inserted with a rueful smile. "My old friend, the truth is that our people will make that decision next sectar when we have our first general election."

Murmurs of agreement filled the Council Chamber.

"I have another announcement of great importance, which I believe might settle this matter." Adama proclaimed, feeling a bit like a gambler holding the capstone. "As you know, on the recent mission where our warriors liberated Captain Dorado and Lieutenant Rooke of the _Pegasus_, as well as some twenty women and children, in the company of almost as many pirates, we also liberated five Human men who, along with the Pegasus warriors, were prisoners there." He paused for effect. "As it turns out, these five men are from Earth."

For a brief moment there was a stunned silence. Then the chambers exploded with clamorous deliberation.

----------

"It'll be tough to catch Fausto. He covers his astrum well." Cepheus told Starbuck, sipping on one of the many Empyrean Ales that the other had pulled out of his pack on arrival. "But you're right, Fausto has his fingers in so many pies, he should be running a Pasterion, if you get my meaning."

"What's his weakness?" asked Starbuck flatly.

Cepheus grinned, the smirk that spread across his features making it clear that Starbuck was asking the right questions. It was hard to believe that over fifteen yahrens had passed since they were both running wild on the streets of Caprica City, picking pockets and struggling to survive. "Weakness? What makes you think he has one?"

"Because when I contacted you last night and asked what you knew about him, you told me to come in person and bring cubits." Starbuck replied, waving off the proffered bottle of ale. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a heavy pouch, tossing it in the air and catching it again, the weight and value of the contents thus demonstrated. "C'mon, I know you used to work for Aquila before he caught you out of the office and bottom dealing at one of his gaming tables. Now, the average boss would fire your astrum and hand you over to Security, but for some reason he just let you go. That tells me that you had something on him. And by association, I'll bet you have _something_ on Fausto. Tell me what I need to know."

While Fausto mainly handled the official 'gaming' end of the Rising Star, Aquila managed the Chancery itself. Between them, they ran the Rising Star's business ventures with an enormous staff of underlings that took care of the mundane and menial everyday tasks while they made the big decisions. And raked in the cubits.

"So, how much have you got in there?" Cepheus asked, eying the pouch. He ran a hand through thick black hair that almost covered equally dark eyes.

Starbuck grinned, "This pouch is magical. The amount inside all depends on the quality of the information."

"Ten thousand."

"Go ahead." Starbuck agreed, for the first time glad that his crazy schedule for the last few days had translated into the fact that he still had Ama's cubits in his personal account, which she had given to him as a dowry. And since he was now 'officially betrothed' to Luana, he had decided they were legitimately his.

"For the record, what I have on Aquila is of a personal nature." Cepheus leered. "Only his wife would care. That's why he didn't turn me in. Generally, he's straight ahead, and as you know, I was working for him before the Destruction. I know him well. Fausto is the shady character of the two. He came in after the Destruction, since Aquila needed a new partner."

"The previous partner didn't make it to the evac ship. Died in the attack on Virgon. Not worth ten grand, but duly noted. And?"

"The thing about Fausto is he keeps impeccable records, or so I've heard." He shrugged noncommittally. "But you'd have to crack them."

Starbuck's eyes narrowed. "Where's the information kept?"

"Twenty."

"Eighteen."

"Done." Cepheus nodded. "In his office on his computer system. Security's tighter than Cylon HQ, but once you're in, you're in. No one else is permitted in his office."

"Nobody? Not even his wife, or the ship's Captain?"

"Nope. And I wouldn't want to be the guy caught there."

"Oh?"

"Most of it's rumour, but I believe it. He's a nasty operator."

Starbuck nodded slowly. He believed it too. "And his security setup?"

"Hey, for twenty-five, I can give you it all. Schematics, access codes—though some of them have undoubtedly changed since last sectar—manpower and security roster, the works."

Starbuck grimaced. "It _better _be the works. Twenty-five is all I can do."

"I know that." Cepheus nodded. "It was on the IFB this morning. 'Twenty-five thousand cubits now reported to be traditional dowry from the Empyrean Necromancer, and not a bribe for games thrown in triad, as had been first reported by unrevealed sources.'" He mimicked Zed, laughing aloud at Starbuck's look of outrage.

"You bastard!" Starbuck groused, realizing now it was a done deal before he even arrived. He grinned at his old friend's tactics, beaten by the frackin' IFB. Ultimately, it would be cubits well spent.

----------

The women sitting before Colonel Tigh were not exactly what the _Galactica'_s XO had expected. All reports had been of ill-kempt and ill-mannered tarts who were inclined, after an initial introduction, to offer their sexual services as barter for food and shelter. Here, instead, were two bathed, scrubbed, neatly groomed women that sat quietly and respectfully with their arms folded protectively before them, occasionally looking to Cassiopeia—the only other person present at this interview—for her support.

"So you were taken from your homes by force?" Tigh probed gently, learning early on that both women startled from sudden movements or loud voices—most notably male—indicative of yahrens of mistreatment. From their scrawny, almost spindly frames—more notably that of the older woman—that mistreatment had been severe indeed.

"Aye, Sir," the one on the left, named Liadan confirmed. "That we were. And if it's all the same to ya good people, we'd very much like to return there." Much to her surprise, the treatment promised by the two warriors when they had been first discovered hidden in their makeshift bunker on the asteroid was exactly what they had been given. They were treated with a respect and caring that she truly hadn't experienced since she had been torn from her home world, Axius, so many years before.

"Show me on the navigational chart where you think your home planet is." Tigh asked, indicating the star chart.

Ciaren, the other and slightly younger woman, rose from her seat to carefully study the chart. "I'm afraid star charts were never me strong suit," she murmured as she looked at the array of dots that meant absolutely nothing to her. "Liadan?"

"I was raised for birthin' children and keepin' a home, not blastin' through the stars," Liadan admitted, smiling as the Colonel averted his head to cover his reaction to her words as he stared long and hard at the chart.

"Skeff could tell you, Colonel Tigh." Ciaren suggested, looking back at Cassiopeia once again.

"Skeff?"

"That's Ciaren's husband, Colonel. He's also from this planet, Axius." The med tech explained. "I believe he's being held with the other men."

"They took your entire family from Axius?" Tigh asked, nonplussed. From what he had gathered, on the technological scale, Axius sat about half way between Terra and the more primitive Empyrean. Though they had evolved beyond manual labour to a society that relied on industry and machinery, they were not even close to space travel.

"Oh, no, Sir. Skeff was taken many seasons before me. I actually didn't know him. He came from another village and was used as a slave in their tunnels for years before they offered him an opportunity to join the settlement. I was fortunate enough to be chosen by him when I arrived on the asteroid base. He's a good man, really. Not like their lot. He nay had much choice in the matter."

"I see."

"Apparently, there are other men who would be equally welcomed back by their families once we find Axius, Colonel." Cassiopeia mentioned. She had personally taken the time to badger every woman she knew, looking for spare clothing for the Axius women and their children, trying to make them appear more respectable as she pitched her idea of giving them temporary residence on the Orphan Ship so they would have a safe place to recover while they awaited transport to their homes.

"All right. I'll speak with your husband, Ciaren. In the meantime, and since the Director of the Orphan Ship has readily agreed, we'll arrange to transport you and your fellow refugees to temporary quarters there." If what these ladies said was true, they could drop off the refugees along with the pirates on Axius, when and if they located it, and the Axians would gladly sort out the victims from the victimizers and deal with them according to their own standards of justice.

"Thank you, Sir."

"No, thank _you_." Tigh smiled gently.

----------

_This just in . . .__The IFB has now learned that the events surrounding the death of a sanitation technician on the Malocchio Freighter, and the near death of Ensign Luana on the Scrap Ship_, _Hephaestus__, are related. _

_In accordance with Colonial jurisprudence, Kaden, yet another sanitation technician from the Galactica, was tried and convicted of the willful termination of Oriana and the attempted termination of Ensign Luana. Kaden has been given a life sentence and has been transferred to the Prison Barge. _

_The facts surrounding the attacks on these two women remain elusive, and the only person who might be able to shed some light on the matter is in stable condition in the Life Station of the Galactica. Ensign Luana, the Princess second in succession for the monarchy of the Empyrean people, and recently announced betrothed to the infamous Lieutenant Starbuck of Blue Squadron, was seriously injured and in fact has little memory of what happened. This IFB reporter briefly spoke with Ama, the Imperial Empyrean Necromancer, and was told that physicians hold out little hope for a complete recovery for the young ensign. Our prayers go out to her family and her betrothed. _

"What the frack!" Luana spat out, bolting upright on the biobed and grabbing her sister by the arm. "Hey, what's going on?"

"Easy, Lu," Lia reassured her. "You know that's not true. Dr. Paye thinks it's only a matter of time before you get your memory back."

"Then why in Hades Hole is the old crone reporting otherwise?" Lu complained, blinking as her head spun in reaction to her sudden vertical climb. She steadied herself, refusing to give in to the vertigo that seemed to be her latest obstacle in the recovery of her health.

"You'd have to ask her," Lia returned.

"Well, where is she? And where's Starbuck for that matter?" She could feel tears welling up in her eyes and sighed in frustration at her emotional fragility. She had briefly seen Starbuck when he dropped in for his treatments earlier in the morning. She knew he was up to something, and had suspected that he had purposely stopped in when he knew she'd still be under the effects of the sedation they had forced on her the night before.

He had looked as though he was still running on adrenaline from the days before, but he had insisted that he had actually crashed on his bunk and had finally caught up on some much needed sleep. He had finally told her about his mission and then his debriefing, as he sat straddling a chair beside her biobed, holding her hand and stroking her hair, the reassuring sound of his voice, and the feeling of security he invoked, eventually lulling her back to sleep.

"Starbuck's the Liaison Officer to the Earthmen." Lia reminded her. "He's back on light duty as of this morning. I'm sure he has a lot on his mind trying to get them settled into the Fleet."

"Really? Well, the last I looked, all five of the Earthmen were hanging out in that isolation room right here in the Life Station." Luana gestured towards the closed door. "Something's going on, Lia. What's he up to?" She held up a hand as Lia shook her head. "And don't try to tell me you don't know. If Ama is making up stories about my condition, then she's in on it too. And if she's in on it, so are you. Don't lie to me. You know I can see right through you."

Lia smiled faintly. "Well, so much for the effect of the drugs muddling your senses."

"Oh? Whose theory was that? Starbuck's?" When Lu had awakened to find him gone, the endless list of questions she had for him not even addressed, she had decided that she'd refuse any more medications that weren't necessary. As a result, she was feeling much clearer mentally . . . but more stiff, sore and emotional . . .

"Look, Starbuck and Ama are both worried that . . . whoever ordered the terminations, will decide he needs to . . ." she hesitated, seeing the stubborn set to her sister's jaw as she awaited her answer, "finish the job."

"Oh." Luana muttered, feeling her chest tighten as she realized she might still be in danger. "And if I don't know what happened, I'll be less of a threat to . . . whoever it is." She studied her sister's features. "_Who_ is it?"

Lia's expression was almost pained, then her gaze suddenly shifted to the entrance. "Thank the Lords," she muttered.

Starbuck strode towards them, a spring to his step and a smile on his face. "Ladies," he greeted them, winking at Lia and stepping up to Luana, leaning forward to kiss her, but stopping as his internal klaxon—set to self-preservation, as always—screamed in his head. "_What?"_

"I thought we already talked about this. I didn't think I'd have to do it again." Luana grabbed his flight jacket with both hands and pulled him closer. "You know who Borka's boss is, don't you?"

Starbuck's eyebrows rose in query, his gaze flickering to Lia.

"She saw the IFB report." Lia explained.

He looked like a man who had been caught with a card up his sleeve. Or more likely a whole deck. He let out a sigh, resting his hands atop hers. "Fausto," he breathed.

_Fausto._ It seemed familiar, yet once again, just beyond the reach of her memory. . . such as it was. Luana closed her eyes, trying to force herself to recall the name and the associated information that she knew was locked away within her mind. She could feel it. Hades, she could _taste_ it. It was there, but refused to reveal itself. _Frack!_

She could feel his hand leave hers, and then tilt her chin up gently. She opened her eyes to see patience and concern etched into his features. She shook her head mutely.

"Fausto's in charge of handling sports betting on the Rising Star. Both legal and otherwise . . . " Starbuck began to tell her, and as he filled her in, it all seemed so familiar. As though he was reminding her of what she already knew. She could envision her mind as an enormous puzzle, the pieces beginning to fall in place, but she was painfully aware that many parts of the evolving picture were still missing, and the fear that they were lost forever just wouldn't go away.

"What do you have on him so far?" Luana asked when he was done. "Other than the fact that he was Borka's boss and his possible affiliation with rigging games on Skorpia."

"Lu, this will take time to set up. And no little finesse. We need people on the inside."

"Who?" she asked.

"Sweet lady, I really don't want to . . . "

"Don't you 'sweet lady' me, Starbuck! I can see right through that flyboy charm of yours. I already told you, I want to be part of this, in whatever capacity I can manage."

He studied her features, and she could tell by his searching gaze that every fiber of his being was telling him to find a med tech and get her sedated her into next secton. Hades, if their places were reversed, she might be thinking the same thing. He even glanced over at Hinnus, as if weighing the man as a possible option.

"Don't even think about it," she told him, almost laughing aloud at the sudden surprise in his expression. "I mean it. If you don't let me in, I'll find myself a hoverchair and follow you around like a lupus on the hunt."

He slowly shook his head while the image of a hungry lupus stalking him transformed into a crazed young woman in a hoverchair who soared down the corridors of the _Rising Star,_ full turbos,with crossbow in hand. "I've _never _met a woman more stubborn than you."

"And you likely never will." Luana agreed. "You're just afraid you've met your match."

Starbuck smiled slightly and leaned forward, stroking her face gently. "I was afraid days ago. I've moved on. Now I'm bloody terrified."

"Just wait for the betrothal party," Lia quipped from behind them, laughing at their shared wince, neither of them being fond of pomp or circumstance—unless the ale was free, in Starbuck's case.

"Besides, if we had to, you could always set me up as bait and see if Fausto bites." Luana added. "After all, a helpless woman in a hoverchair would be easy pickings."

"Definitely not!" He lurched upright, his body tense, and his face flushing with anger. "Don't you understand, Lu? Fausto won't show up to do this himself, he'll send a couple more goons. And I have it on good authority that he's into a lot more than just setting the odds for the Triad League. If we can get into his office and hack into his computer system, we'll have all the evidence we need to send him to the Prison Barge."

"So that's the plan?" Lia asked.

"Roughly," he agreed. "We need to get Dayton and Ryan in place first."

"How are you going to hack into his system?" Lia asked.

Starbuck paused, "I admit there are still a few holes in the plan. Hey, if I have to, I'll pick up the damn thing and carry it out whole." He shrugged, noting that neither of them were impressed. "Okay, I have an idea about who can help us." He smiled at them both. "I might have to sacrifice Lia though to bring him on board."

"Go ahead," Luana offered, grinning at her sister. "You can have her."

"Thanks a lot," Lia grunted, no longer amused.

"My pleasure. After all, what is family for?"

----------

Ama stood before Myrddin's electronics workshop, noting the 'closed' shingle hanging before her. She pushed against the door, quite surprised to see a chain stop her progress, and prevent the door from opening further. It was almost unheard of to lock doors on the Malocchio, which acted to incense her only further. "Myrddin! Are you in there, you sniveling coward!" she shouted.

And the ensuing silence didn't exactly improve her disposition.

With a deep breath and an iron will, she calmed herself in a milli-centon, refocusing her anger and letting her energy flow through her as she looked at the meager chain lock. She concentrated on one link, her mind embracing each unit of energy that gave it form, the density shifting, the shape bending to her will . . . then she pushed against the door once again, the chain dropping uselessly to the floor.

"Your choice, Myrddin. Come out and face me like a true Empyrean, or cower like the milquetoasty recreant that you really are." She snarled as she swept into the room, now back in her usual garb of Empyrean pants and long tunic, with her hair finger-combed back into its usual disarray.

A harsh odour infused the shop, reminding her of the vile substance that they cleaned the Life Station with. It was stifling, and, in reaction, she covered her nose. She slowly turned in a circle, looking over the immaculate shelves, every item neatly stored and labeled which was typical of the fastidious shop keeper.

"Myrddin!" she hollered again, heading towards his living quarters at the rear of the shop. This time the door opened easily, and she entered the room with the authority of someone who had every right to be there.

Unfortunately, the grand entrance was lost on the dead man within.


	73. Chapter 73

Apollo felt just about half-awake and almost a little battered, as if it was _him_ who had been physically beaten by pirates, after the events of the previous few days. Lords of Kobol, how many times had he awakened in the night after reliving in his dreams that defining moment when he had been so tempted just to lean forward and push that button in the control room of the pirate base? All that had stopped him was the mysterious voice of the Empyrean Necromancer as she inscrutably penetrated his mind and ordered him to stop. Of course, he hadn't seen her since, and wouldn't even know how to broach the topic as to whether or not she had really played a part in the enigmatic occurrence, or if it had all been a trick of his mind. Part of him wasn't altogether sure that he truly wanted to know, for it reminded him eerily of his former metaphysical dealings with Count Iblis.

Instead, he had fallen back on his established routine, the predictability grounding him in the aftermath of the mission. As usual, for that time of the morning, he was in the duty office and sifting through his messages—after dropping Boxey off at instructional period and then stopping off at the woman's billet and inviting Sheba out for dinner in an attempt to make amends for their confrontation during the mission.

The amount of information that electronically made its way to a Strike Captain's office was immense, and his index finger hovered over the 'delete' button as he scrolled through, wondering just why the ship's supply officer considered it crucial that he know that the current life span of a Colonial Uniform—obviously barring laser blasts—was approximately four yahrens, which meant the current supply, warrior losses notwithstanding, would need to be replaced in one yahren, nine sectars, and two-and-a-half sectons.

He sighed, assigning the information to the great virtual trash bin, before taking another sip of his java, and then opening a preliminary Security Report that Chief Brogan had forwarded to him. His finger hovered over his favourite button of destruction as he scanned through the words, reporting the apparent death by heart attack of a shop keeper on the _Malocchio_. He was poised to send it to the repository of eradication when he noticed the body was discovered by Ama.

Apollo's eyes narrowed, and he climbed to his feet, grabbing his flight jacket. It was just a niggling thought. Probably nothing really. All the same, he had every intention of stopping by the Security Office to find out just what the Empyrean Necromancer had been doing visiting a shopkeeper as soon as the Battlestar had returned to the Fleet, while her Goddaughter was still undergoing intensive Rehabilitative Therapy here on the _Galactica_.

Come to think of it, Starbuck hadn't been around to gripe about his role as Liaison Officer to the Earthmen, or to rave about Borka's reduced sentence, after the goon had testified against Kaden. Instead, his wingman appeared to be accepting his less than palatable assignment, and the equally hard to swallow result of Colonial Justice, with unusual grace and aplomb.

Something just didn't add up.

----------

Chameleon had spent the last several sectars trying to avert his natural inclination towards the nefarious. While Commander Adama's blatant warning about curtailing his activities—after the Borellian Nomen had almost killed Starbuck during a Blood Hunt—indeed had some bearing on his 'rehabilitation', the main reason was that one day he intended to tell Starbuck that they were father and son, and he had hoped that there would be at least a _measure_ of respect in the eyes of the young man who was a decorated and honoured officer in the Colonial Service—at least once the inevitable fury, roughly equivalent to that of a rampaging Base Ship, had abated.

Truthfully, as the lieutenant came around less and less, he had thought he had lost the opportunity to admit to his son that not only had he convinced Cassiopeia to lie about the results of the genetics scan, but also that he had convinced himself that Starbuck's overeager and impulsive words about leaving the Service were true. Now, Chameleon realized, it was really his _own_ fear of responsibility . . . of actually _belonging_ . . . of having a real purpose . . . something more worthwhile than just the next meal ticket, the next mark, the next scam. Survival, with a flair that was all his own. Still, it _had_ been enough. Once.

How many times had Blassie said it to him? _A panthera never changes its spots._ There was something so utterly satisfying about pulling off the perfect con. Besting the other man. Pitting his skill, intelligence, finesse, and creativity against someone else, and triumphing. It was an addiction that was hard to kick. It made his heart race. It made him feel _alive_. Vitally alive in a way he hadn't felt since Starbuck's mother. . .

But in his quieter moments, when his own ego failed to keep him company, the guilt that he kept buried deep inside would resume its remorseless attack, gnawing away at him, threatening to consume him. He wondered how the same man whose heart had been rent into pieces, and then ground into the dusts of Umbra, when he had believed his wife and young son to be incinerated by a Cylon Raider's strafing run, could now watch from a distance as his son went through the motions of life, not knowing about the wonderful woman that was his mother, and still believing himself an orphan.

_You can watch him because he is who he is. Gabriela's boy. And you're damned proud of the man he's become . . .without any help from you._

And now Chameleon had been given a second chance. The fates—that had conspired to taunt him, making him believe he could still have his son's love under the guise of friendship, only to then slowly lure the younger man back to his established life and friends aboard the Battlestar—had brought them together once again, and Starbuck had approached him this time well knowing his propensity for the dubious, in fact, because of it. At least the Viper pilot was coming to _him, _and not vice versa.

What was a conman to do? Or a father?

----------

"So you want to access a computer system, copying all the data files, without the owner even knowing you've ever been there. And it's time sensitive. Is that about right?" Corporal Komma asked the lieutenant, his arms folded across his chest as he sat at his usual station before the _Galactica_'s massive data banks.

"I just want to know if it's possible," Starbuck replied evasively, glancing at the chrono onscreen. Two centons.

Komma sniffed. "Well, that would depend on whether or not you could gain access to wherever this . . . _theoretical _system was, without tripping any internal safeguards, and being detected."

"That's the least of our worries. Is it possible?" Starbuck asked again, sitting on the edge of a console.

"Is it legal?" Komma returned.

"With the blessing of Chief Brogan of Colonial Security himself."

Komma chuckled, "So, what's a Viper pilot doing here picking my brain, instead of a Blackshirt?"

"Well, let's just say I thought that you might be more agreeable to helping out one of our own, than if Reece had walked in that door."

"Oh, well . . . " Komma nodded thoughtfully, before grinning. "You might have a point, Lieutenant."

"So?"

"Logistically, it would take too long. If you were able to get to the system, and then assuming you could get past any additional security features _within_ the system, then it would _still_ take centars to copy the files while wading through them." Komma explained briefly. "Depending of course on the size and number of the files in question."

Starbuck shook his head. "I'm not looking for the textbook answer here, Corporal. There has to be something else that would work. Something new. Cutting edge."

Komma rolled his eyes. "Just look around here, Lieutenant. Does this old bird look cutting edge to you? The private sectar is yahrens ahead of the military in technology, thanks to the quantum crunchers, or at least they used to be before the Destruction."

"C'mon, Komma. Our technological capabilities are purely based on the talent and imagination of our people. That means you, my friend. There's no longer a committee approving or denying funding for technological advancements. It all comes down to what we need _now_. I need a solution and I need it yesterday. And I think you're the man who can find it for me." He paused, assessing the other for a moment, "Unless you're telling me I've overestimated your abilities?"

Komma held the intense gaze, apparently thinking it over. "Who will be accessing the system?"

"Me," Starbuck replied.

Komma's eyebrows raised suspiciously and he nodded slowly. "I thought that back at the Academy if it didn't have a control stick, you didn't bother," he reminded Starbuck of their encounter in the Central Computer Room just before the mission to Arcta. He had wondered ever since about the unlikely coincidence of the lieutenant's name mysteriously appearing on the task force list after the brief centons Starbuck had been left alone with the data banks—especially after the warrior had professed his total ineptitude with computer systems any bigger than a hand-held data pad, unless it had a laser generator.

"Uh, well, I've updated some of my skills since." Starbuck answered smoothly. "Kind of had to when I started teaching cadets."

"Hmm. So, there's no class of _female _Viper pilots in the Armaments Room this time around?" Komma continued to probe, letting the lieutenant know that it wouldn't be so easy to manipulate him again. Of course, he _did _get a date out of that encounter, so on further consideration, Starbuck's chicanery had actually worked out in both their favours the previous time . . .

"Well, no," Starbuck shrugged, "_but . . . _Ensign Lia should be joining me any moment. Have you met?"

Komma paused. "Ensign Lia? The Empyrean princess?" He perked up with interest. He had seen enough coverage on the IFB about the beautiful young warrior to almost feel as if he knew her. But she probably wouldn't be all that interested in a portly techo-geek.

Starbuck nodded, "The one and the same. She's a nice kid. A bit lonely since leaving some of her people behind on Empyrean, but really sweet."

"Lonely?" Komma repeated in disbelief. "She must have every single male warrior on the _Galactica_ after her."

"Ah . . . well . . ." Starbuck sighed. "She's a bit too . . . _cerebral_ for the average guy." He shrugged, almost sadly. "A real shame too. But you know how some guys are intimidated by intelligent women." He shook his head, as if relaying that he couldn't understand it himself, then he glanced at his chrono to hide his amusement as Komma appeared as though he would start to jump up and down in excitement. "Actually, she should be here any micron . . ."

On cue, the main door _hissed,_ sliding open and both their heads swung to the entrance expecting a vision of loveliness to sweep into the room. Instead . . .

"Apollo!"

----------

_. . .breaking news from the Council of Twelve that along with Captain Dorado and Lieutenant Rooke of the Battlestar Pegasus—finally confirming the amazing survival of the Juggernaut and the Pegasus—that five men from Earth were retrieved in a recent reconnaissance-turned-rescue mission. These men, self-described as astronuts which is a designation within Earth's space program—yes, ladies and gentlemen, Earth does indeed have a space program!—are in excellent to stable condition. Official Liaison Officer, Lieutenant Starbuck reassures us that when Commander Dayton, Lieutenant Colonel Baker, Captain Dickins, Dr. Ryan, and Dr. Porter have recovered sufficiently from their ordeal, that the people of the Fleet will have their curiosity satisfied. Indeed, the IFB is currently negotiating with the Earth astronuts'" 'public relations' man—another Earth designation, evidently—for an exclusive series featuring the story of these men and their home planet, Earth._

"Your timing is . . . impeccable, Chameleon," Aquila smiled as he glanced across his desk at the distinguished looking gentlemen that he had seen many times as a customer in the gambling chancery, usually winning. Aquila had been assured that his sudden and unexpected meeting with this man, whose shrewdness and business savvy were evidenced by his arrangement of the news release to coordinate with their discussion, would be financially beneficial to both parties. He lifted his feet from the desk, sat up straight, and reached for a bottle of something interesting-looking. "Now, tell me about your . . . inspiration."

"My pleasure," Chameleon smiled, leaning forward to take the proffered glass, and engage the other. "Now, the way I see it is . . ."

----------

"At ease, Corporal," Apollo nodded at Komma as he entered the _Galactica_'s Central Computer Room, then he turned his gaze to Starbuck. "Sorry, I'm late. I got tied up with Chief Brogan in the Life Station."

Starbuck blinked, then shut his mouth when he realized it was still gaping open at the unexpected appearance of the captain. He shifted thrusters, overcoming his initial surprise to digest Apollo's words. "The Life Station? What happened?"

"Ama found Myrddin in his quarters this morning. Dead. There was every indication that he had a heart attack. Dr. Salik just finished the preliminary post-mortem report."

"And?" Starbuck asked. He had been waiting for Ama to re-emerge from her sudden disappearance when they had returned to the Fleet. Little did he know that she was already, and _very _obviously following up on how the Empyrean, Myrddin, was involved with Fausto. . . which had evidently turned into a dead end. Literally.

"Salik found toxic levels of potassium chloride in Myrddin's system. Enough to stop his heart and make it appear as though he had had a heart attack at first glance. If Ama hadn't insisted that 'skullduggery' was at work, the med techs on the _Malocchio_ probably wouldn't have pursued it beyond that." Apollo continued. "So they did a full tox screen on his blood. They're doing a microscopic epidermal analysis to see if they can find a point of entry for the toxic dose. Dr. Salik said there was no logical reason for such elevated levels to occur naturally."

"Termination?" Starbuck asked.

"Looks that way." Apollo nodded. "How are things coming here? Can Corporal Komma help us out?"

Starbuck let out a breath thinking about the possible deadly complications that he hadn't even considered yet, suddenly glad that his friend had jumped on board for this latest adventure. "Well, we were just discussing that. We actually thought you might be . . . Ensign Lia."

Apollo smiled, shaking his head at the lieutenant. "Sorry to disappoint you. Actually, I was just talking to Lia and Luana in the Life Station. It was very . . . enlightening."

"Oh." Starbuck sighed, knowing they would be having further words once Corporal Komma was out of the picture. Oh, and the mong would really hit the rotaries when the Commander and Council discovered the unscheduled announcement to the Fleet by the IFB that Chameleon released on their behalf. "So, you're all caught up, eh?"

"I'm sure you'll clear up any holes later on. Hmm?" Apollo patted Starbuck's shoulder. "So, Corporal Komma, any thoughts about all this?"

"Uh . . ." Well, so much for sweetening the pot with the suggestion that a date with Ensign Lia might be his reward. He glanced at Starbuck who shrugged helplessly, as if it was up to _him_, Lia would be with them now, and _not_ the captain. Somehow, Komma had to respect that. And, there was still the possibility that the lieutenant could come through for him . . . "I do have an idea. It's really more of a compelling problem that I encountered before the Destruction that I've been working on from a curiosity perspective more than anything else, Captain."

"Sounds interesting," Apollo commented, bluffing his way through the conversation since he wasn't privy to anything that had been said before he walked in the door.

"It's a Penetration and Pinch Program . . ."Komma started.

Apollo took one look at Starbuck, the schoolboy devilry written on his face, and hastily reached over and grabbed the lieutenant's arm as he opened his mouth to speak, _"Don't_ say it," the captain warned him half-heartedly, barely able to contain his own smirk.

"Well, I can _still_ think it," Starbuck chuckled, nodding at Komma. "Go on."

Komma grinned at the exchange. "It infected the high-technology industry not long before we shipped out for the Armistice. It was used to penetrate a major technology company's computer system, download their data base—including research and development files—back to whoever was running the operation, and nobody at the targeted company realized it had happened until it was too late."

"Hey, I think I remember that." Starbuck nodded. "Someone basically stole the plans for a revolutionary new system in security just before Caprican Techco was ready to start developing it. I can't remember the name of the small company that suddenly came on the scene, but they had a patent and had released the ground breaking technology which was supposed to be virtually the same system that Caprican Techco claimed they were ready to release only days later. They had spent millions developing it only to be beaten out of the gate."

Apollo nodded. "I remember too. Caprican Techco claimed that their security system had to have been breached—which was ironic considering they specialized in security—and the plans stolen, but the Destruction occurred before Colonial Law could decide the case."

"Exactly." Komma nodded eagerly. "Technology junkies have been discussing the actualization of such a program ever since. A lot of them thought that the technology was simply stolen the old fashioned way, but there was a core group of us who believed such a program could be created. Of course, it would be . . . _highly _illegal, so it could only be realized on a theoretical level." Komma shifted, his face thoughtful as he awaited a response.

"Yeah, I've said that about more than a few pyramid systems I've come up with," Starbuck murmured, his eyes twinkling as Apollo shot him a glance. "C'mon Komma, what did you put together?"

"I think I have the program you need." He smiled as he hopped into his chair, and rolled to a work station. He slid a data disk into a slot, and flipped a switch. "Now, downloading a data base of any considerable size could take centars, but if we use the _Galactica_'s main computer, which has a significantly faster processor array than your average personal unit, it could be done in a matter of centons, once again depending on the size of the files. With Command's approval, of course." He nodded to the captain.

"How do we access the computer?" Apollo asked, glancing at Starbuck.

"Physically, that's my role," Starbuck returned. "But once I'm in there, by computer link. . ." he looked to Komma searchingly.

"All you need to do is send me a message from the computer that you want accessed. I send a reply, the receiver—Lieutenant Starbuck in this case—opens it up and the Penetration and Pinch Program does the rest. It automatically comes back to the _Galactica_ on a secured channel. We get everything on his system from accounting to family holoptics."

"Without a trace?" Apollo asked.

"Yes. The freq used is Fleet Commline Alpha. I can tell the main comm system to ignore the signal, so it won't even flip a light on Lieutenant Athena's board when it routes it here. Since no one else even monitors that freq, no one will be able to trace the signal, either way. Of course, Starbuck still needs to delete the record of the transmission being sent from the target system, as well as that of the original link."

"So he needs to stay for the duration," Apollo murmured.

"Centons, Captain. Just centons." Komma reminded him. "Also, I'm willing to bet that since we haven't seen a PAPP since before the Holocaust, and since its existence and actual usage was never proven, that the security features that would detect it, never mind repel it, don't exist." Komma posed. "Of course, I could be wrong."

"Have you tried it out?" Starbuck asked. "On a smaller scale? Just so we know it works."

"Well, I do admit to penetrating my father's system. I ended up with a backlog of family holoptics and about fifty variations of how to play Solitarian." Komma shrugged. "Almost reassuring in a small way. However, as far as the security feature goes, it's difficult to say. He probably wouldn't notice if I turned over his quarters, as long as his favourite chair was still there and he could still tune in Triad on the IFB."

"Fleet Commline," said Apollo, scratching his chin. "You sure it won't be noticed?"

"Absolutely, Captain."

"Sounds promising. We'll let you know, Corporal. Thanks for your help." Apollo patted the man's arm, turning to the lieutenant. "Let's go Starbuck."

"Thanks Komma. Great job." Starbuck grinned at him, hastily following his captain. "I'll see what I can do to hook you up with Lia."

"My pleasure, Lieutenant." Komma stood as they disappeared through the door.

Starbuck caught up to Apollo, and then his arm was seized in an tylinium grip. Apollo stopped them short in the corridor, drawing in a deep breath as he studied the lieutenant.

"If you _needed_ help, you _should_ have asked. That's what friends are for." Apollo insisted, dropping his grip from Starbuck's arm.

"Yeah, well . . ." Starbuck ran a hand back through his hair, shaking his head. "Look, we haven't _exactly_ been seeing eye to eye the last few days." Silence. "Okay, _sectons_. I just thought you could use a little space . . . to catch up with Boxey. Sheba. Finish adding black marks to my personal file." He shrugged. "Besides, I didn't think you'd exactly approve of what I was doing."

"I have a feeling that I still don't know even _half _of what that actually _is_, Starbuck." Apollo muttered. He sighed, placing a hand on the other's shoulder. "Look, I realize that I've been . . . a little hard on you the last few days." In just about every memory of every exchange that they had had, he seemed to be dressing Starbuck down for breaking regs or telling him off for dating Luana. No wonder Starbuck had kept this to himself. "But. . . you're still my best friend. I respect your opinions, although I admit I don't always understand your decisions . . . But if you've committed yourself to taking down Fausto because of what he ultimately did to Luana, then I want to help you. I think the Commander will support us too, once I brief him. I can't believe we have a criminal like Fausto operating so openly in the Fleet."

"You really did talk to Brogan." Starbuck murmured, surprised at how much the Chief of Security knew about his plan. Reece had known his Chief would support the innovative plan to take down the man who had covered his tracks so well.

"Brogan keeps close tabs on his men, in this case Willem and Reece. Something I should probably pay more attention to." Apollo replied with a wry smile as he released his grip. "But Brogan insinuated that there might be another part of this that Security is unaware of and that you intended it to stay that way. I assume that has something to do with how you're going to break into Fausto's office on the Rising Star?"

Starbuck nodded slowly. "Yep. I can't really have Council Security involved in breaking and entering now, can I? Actually Chameleon is helping me out on that angle."

"I heard. Public Relations Man to the Earthmen." He shook his head, but his lips quirked into a smile. "The Council of Twelve isn't going to like the fact that Commander Dayton and his men have found someone else to represent them."

Starbuck grinned in satisfaction. "I know. Isn't it beautiful? Still, it's important that someone is looking out for them while they get to know the ins and outs of Colonial life."

"But _Chameleon_?" Apollo asked ruefully.

"I think he'll do a good job." Starbuck replied with a smile. "_And . . ._ he's in his element."

Apollo nodded in agreement. "You better fill me in on the rest, so I can explain to the Commander why the rehabilitating conman is hanging out on the _Rising Star_ posing as a public relations man to the Earthmen before he arrests him."

"Welcome aboard, buddy." Starbuck grinned.

"I've always been aboard, Starbuck." Apollo shrugged. "At least as long as I can remember. And I always will be."

Starbuck smiled and gripped his friend's hand warmly, "You've _really _got to get out more, Apollo."

----------

"Oh, bloody Hades Hole! When did they find him?" Reece asked his partner from the doorway.

"He was due to check in with the local Security Officer at 1000 centars as per his probationary agreement. He didn't. A couple centars later they went looking for him." Willem returned, leaning over the bloodied body of Borka, slumped just within the doorway of his quarters on the _Maxidex_ Freighter. With all the damage to his face, the man was almost unrecognizable.

"I hate to even ask, but where was Starbuck when this happened?" Reece murmured as he snapped on gloves and shoe covers, following his partner's lead, and began looking around. The few meager belongings that the former sanitation technician had transferred from his former position on the _Galactica_ were still in the containers. Only a few scant items had been unpacked.

"I checked transport records already." Willem admitted, clearly not liking it. "I have Lieutenant Starbuck arriving on a shuttle to the _Maxidex_ this morning. Just before 1000. The shuttle was two centons early, as a matter of fact. Coincidentally, just before the scheduled time that _Borka_ didn't show up to check in."

"Frack."

"Yeah. I thought so too."

"Local Security didn't touch anything?" Reece asked.

"Seems they were tied up with another stiff that they found in a shelter this morning. An overdose. They basically opened the door, found Borka dead, and decided to call us, since it was us who escorted him off the _Galactica_ first thing this morning when we returned to the Fleet."

"Considerate of them," drawled Reece.

"Wasn't it though?" Willem snorted, as he lifted Borka's blood stained tunic. "Looks like an old fashioned knife wound. Messy. Not a tidy Colonial Laser by any means. He got it in the face a couple of times. Hands too. Must have put up a fight." He frisked the man. "His cubits and ID are gone."

"That doesn't sound like Starbuck." Reece mentioned. "And the killer must have had blood all over him after an attack like this. Okay, let's see what we can get in the way of genetic material and try and do a DNA match."

"With Starbuck, you mean? Do you think it was him? He's a smart guy. He wouldn't be sloppy like this killer was. He'd cover his tracks well."

Reece let out a short breath. "No. I don't think he'd do it. Maybe . . .I don't know. Maybe if Borka had killed his lady, then _maybe_ he'd be driven to it. But not this way. He was as committed to nailing Fausto as we were." He slammed a fist into the wall. "Coincidence or not, this could screw up our plans if he can't hold up his end of the bargain because he's in the frackin' brig."

"You're getting ahead of yourself, Reece. First, we need to transport Borka's body to the _Galactica_'s Life Station for a post-mortem and get some genetic samples off of him. Second, we need to find the termination weapon, in this case a knife. Third, we need to get down to the local Security Office and see who might have rolled Borka—and perhaps terminated him—for his cash. _Then_, we can bring in Starbuck and have him explain just why he was over here around the same time that Borka was meeting his maker. I agree with you. I think it's a coincidence. He's just too damned smart not to cover his tracks if premeditated termination was truly on his mind."

"First Myrddin, now Borka. It could be Fausto pulling the strings here." Reece suggested.

"If he's going to these extremes he must be trying very hard to hide something."

"Or he's scared. I'll bet he didn't count on two of his men getting pinched, and then Kaden being tried and convicted away from his realm of influence."

"Now that I think of it, Borka being left like this might not be sloppiness after all. I think he was brutalized, and left like this as a message. This sends a damn clear message to anyone working for Fausto not to cross him." Willem remarked.

"And to anybody thinking of arresting him too." Reece mentioned with a sidelong look. "Don't you think?"

"Hey, we're Security, Reece. We don't think," Willem quipped.


	74. Chapter 74

Adama sat quietly at his desk, his arms resting on the surface, and his hands loosely clasped. It was difficult to believe that the lieutenant who had been briefing him for the last fifteen centons on his coordinated efforts with Colonial Security to remove a suspected criminal from operating openly in the Fleet, primarily from the _Rising Star_, was the same man who just a day before had appeared exhausted, dispirited and deflated as the Commander took him to task for breaking most of the known rules and regulations in the Colonial Service Handbook. Well, the boy certainly bounced back with a vengeance. _Ah, to be young again! _ Adama glanced down at his datapad, startled for a moment to see his identity card at the edge of his desk. _Strange, I don't recall putting that there._ He slipped it back into place upon his person as he nodded slowly at Starbuck.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Lieutenant Starbuck, but there seems to be a large part of what you're doing that Colonial Security is completely unaware of."

"Yes, sir. I didn't want to involve Security directly in some of this, in case the evidence should turn out to not be admissible in Tribunal." He paced before the desk, seemingly incapable of standing still, or sitting, as Adama had first suggested.

"Which is what occurred with Borka's hearing, I understand," Adama noted.

"Yes, Commander." Starbuck nodded sharply, his jaw tight. "I don't want to take any chances this time around." Starbuck was the first to realize that he didn't know the finer points of the Criminal Code of Colonial Justice, although he knew his way around the legal underbrush of evidence and such, gleaned from a life spent in any number of Civil Security Stations and petty juvenile courts. The last thing he wanted to do was to jeopardize any chance they might have at nailing Fausto of anything that might translate into an extended visit on the infamous Prison Barge.

"Borka admitted to trying to kill Luana, but since there was evidence of his being beaten during his interrogation, that confession was inadmissible." Apollo clarified with a slight shrug and a sigh, while sitting on the edge of his father's desk. "Not that it seems to have done him much good according to Reece and Willem." He looked dubiously at Starbuck who merely shook his head as though in protest of his innocence. It had just about knocked the lieutenant on his astrum when he had found out that he had been on the _Maxidex_ Freighter at roughly the same time as Borka had missed reporting in to Colonial Security, and had then left before the brutalized body of the former sanitation tech was discovered. The Life Station was awaiting the lieutenant's visit for the collection of a DNA sample that would conclusively eradicate any thought of Starbuck as a suspect. They hoped.

"Originally conceived to protect the innocent men and women who during history have been coerced into admitting to crimes that they _didn't_ commit while under duress," Adama pointed out to both young men as he recognized with some concern their apparent disrespect, or even contempt, of the law.

"Yeah, well, in those days, usually those guys were burned at the stake, thrown to the leos, lynched, or shot down by a firing squad _before_ the Chief Opposer showed up," Starbuck pointed out with an insouciant shrug and a fleeting smile. "If they even _had_ Opposers in those days."

"Then it was fortunate you were accused of willful termination in a _friendlier_ and more _contemporary_ time, Lieutenant," Adama reminded him.

"Ortega?" Starbuck murmured, a little uncomfortable under his commanding officer's poignant reminder. "I understand what you're saying, Commander, but I honestly think I'd be more likely to get lynched because sports fans thought I cheated at triad."

"The popularity of a man doesn't always determine his worth, Starbuck," Adama added, with a hint of admonishment.

"Then again . . . " Starbuck grinned, indicating himself, then reversed thrusters under the full force of Adama's glower. He raised a hand defensively. "Just . . . trying to lighten the mood, Sir."

"Hmm." Adama shook his head, but sadly realized that there was some truth in the young man's words. "And as I understand it, in this case Borka's . . . _confession_ facilitated Colonial Security finding Luana in time to save her life."

Starbuck nodded tersely, his jovial banter of the moment before gone. The hard, unspoken truth in the young man's eyes revealing plainly that he believed that Borka got what he had coming—even if it _hadn't _come from Starbuck.

"And what of the triad scandal?"

"I expect you know about the death of the electronics shop keeper on the _Malocchio_?" Starbuck asked, continuing when Adama nodded. "Ama was actually going to see Myrddin because she thought one of his inventions might have had something to do with us losing our games."

"But of course, someone else got to Myrddin first," Apollo pointed out. "With a vengeance. Colonial Security scoured his shop and found a box containing altered triad balls and a tiny remote control unit. Dr. Wilker hasn't had a chance to examine it with any detail since he's fairly well tied up with the Earth Shuttle, but Technician Hummer did say he found a tiny circuit board sewn into the liner of the balls, and that when he throws the ball, the remote can slightly shift the vector of its path. It's almost undetectable to the naked eye unless you're looking for it."

"Thereby, making the shot miss its mark, ostensibly in play. So, this Myrddin was behind the triad scandal?" Adama asked.

"Possibly. Or at least partially. He certainly had the ability to develop the technology. Also, the sports betting records from the _Rising Star_ show Myrddin winning heavily at all of the games Starbuck and I played and lost. And strangely, in my opinion, it was just at _our_ games he placed bets, at least according to the records. I guess the questions are, was he actually acting on his own to reap his _own_ financial reward, or was he doing it for Fausto?" Apollo continued. "And why target us?"

"_Us_?" Starbuck asked ruefully.

"You think he was doing it for Fausto," Adama stated.

"Security found faint traces of old blood stains in Myrddin's shop on the underside of the anti-static mat. DNA says it's Oriana's blood. It looks as though that is where Oriana was shot."

"Terminated," Starbuck corrected him.

"We don't know that for sure." Adama inserted.

"But we have a damn good idea about it." Starbuck added. "Sir."

"But it was _Kaden_ who terminated Oriana." Adama inserted.

"Tying Kaden and Borka in with Myrddin," Starbuck nodded. "And we all know that Borka admitted that they were working for Fausto. Giving Fausto even more reason to shut Borka's mouth for good."

"And linking the triad scandal tenuously to Fausto as well," Adama concluded.

"Yes, sir. We're still awaiting the final results of Dr. Salik's post-mortem on Myrddin, but I get the idea that Fausto didn't want the scandal traced back to him," the lieutenant replied.

"He terminated Myrddin to stop him from talking?" Adama asked.

"Looks that way from the preliminary results, Commander. Or, more likely, he had someone else do it for him. Dr. Salik and Dr. Paye have both been overwhelmed with the influx of refugees from the pirate asteroid, so a conclusive answer might take a while." Starbuck told him. "It's the same for the reports on Borka's post-mortem."

"With that in mind, Starbuck, I understand to a certain extent why you're situating both the Earthmen _and_ Chameleon to gather intelligence for this mission, but have you considered that you're putting _them_ at risk as well?" Adama pointed out. "Fausto sounds like a man that doesn't like to be crossed . . . or implicated. Frankly, both of you, I think we've had enough murders in the Fleet. And I don't want either of you to join the list."

"Believe me, sir, that's one list I'm _not_ volunteering for," Starbuck glanced at Apollo. "But Chameleon knows that all they're supposed to do is _watch_ Fausto and Aquila, gather information, and be the chief attraction at the _Party of the Yahren_ that Aquila will throw to welcome the Earth Astronuts and introduce some of their culture. They're essentially setting the stage for the sting. They're not actually going to be involved in infiltrating Fausto's office that night. In fact, if things go the way I plan, Aquila will believe that they merely tolerate me as their pain-in-the-astrum Liaison Officer. There's already a rumour going around about the run-in that Dayton . . . _Commander_ Dayton and I had on the Bridge."

"Which is why you set up Chameleon as their front man, instead of yourself." Adama added.

"Yes, sir. He seemed a natural choice, and the only man _I _know who could manipulate the situation with suitable results. Besides, this part's really all legitimate." He reminded himself, and them. "They could get a decent payoff from this. All of them."

"What about the affiliation between you and Chameleon?" Adama asked, surprised, not for the first time, that Starbuck hadn't ended up as a career criminal.

"Well, quite a few people know that he conned me into getting him off the _Rising Star, _Commander . . ." he shrugged, turning away from Adama's penetrating gaze and a host of humiliating memories. He shrugged it off before turning back. "We haven't really kept in touch for some time. I think that there's enough distance between us to keep it believable."

"And they're _all_ aware of the risks?" Adama asked.

"Yes, sir," Starbuck reassured him.

"Another thing . . . "

"Sir?"

"There was an announcement supposedly released to the IFB on behalf of the Council of Twelve this morning that did not actually have Council clearance."

Starbuck winced, sucking his breath in through his teeth. "Sorry, sir . . . a strategic necessity. Chameleon was meeting with Aquila then. We needed the advantage."

"And whose idea was _that_, Lieutenant?" Adama asked, as he folded his arms across his chest, gaze withering.

"Uh, well . . . actually . . . it was a collaborative decision, sir." He replied vaguely.

"Well, perhaps as Official Liaison Officer to the Earthmen, you can ensure that their Public Relations Man understands that it's not to happen again." Adama stressed, his brows raised.

"Yes, Commander." A faint smile. "That will actually help give the negative impression that I was hoping to create, at least in public."

"I thought so too." Adama nodded. "Sire Dracus will be liaising with you as representative for the Council." He couldn't help but smile when Starbuck winced as though he had just been struck."

"Dracus!" he groaned. "Lords of Kobol . . ." He shook his head, pacing the room.

"_Sire_ Dracus, Lieutenant," Adama reminded him with a small measure of amusement. The very man who had publicly accused Starbuck of throwing triad games for financial recompense.

"Sir . . ."

"That's something you probably should realize about the bureaucratic nature of your position, Starbuck, you don't always get to chose your bedfellows."

"_Bedfellows_, sir?" His eyebrows shot up, as did his hands in protest. "I . . ."

Apollo chuckled behind him. "Sounds like you're qualified in more than one area for this job, Bucko."

Starbuck considered the captain for a moment. "I _will_ get you for that, Apollo. Rest assured, you are doomed! But I'm going to save it for another day so you don't see it coming."

Apollo chuckled. "We'll see about that. Commander, we do need your permission to use the _Galactica_'s main computer for Corporal Komma's PAPP download."

"Of course. Corporal Komma's program sounds promising, but I'm sure I don't have to tell you it must remain top secret. Not a word is to be breathed about this _Penetration and Pinch Program_ he's come up with." The Commander's face wrinkled at the words. "I admit, it raises some concerns as to its possible implications on military _and _fleet security."

"Of course, Commander." Apollo agreed, noting Starbuck nod in his direction.

"Finally, have you considered that if Security publicly pointed the finger at Myrddin for the triad scandal on the IFB, backed up by the electronic paraphernalia that they found, that Fausto may be satisfied that he was off the hook. It might make him less guarded. Less careful."

Starbuck nodded eagerly. "He probably set Myrddin up to take the blame anyhow. If it hadn't been for Ama, they would have just signed him off as a heart attack, and think he'd succumbed to the stress. If we make Fausto think that his plan worked, he'll be less suspicious of what's happening right under his nose. Buoy up that egocentric sense of confidence that he has."

"_Who_ has?" Apollo remarked dryly.

"Hey, with a plan like this, how can we go wrong?" Starbuck grinned ruefully as he mentally calculated the innumerable things that could screw up when so many people were involved. He looked over at the Commander's chrono. "We better move if we're going to hook up with Boomer and Baker."

"Sire Dracus will send you an itinerary of approved Council appointments that we expect our guests to attend. I'm certain he'll want to meet with you as well. As you may well imagine, the Council are very eager to meet with the Earthmen, Starbuck."

Starbuck paused, nodding solemnly. "I'll keep my eyes peeled for that, Commander."

"I expect that you will," Adama held his gaze for a moment, then turned his attention to Apollo who was patting himself down in confusion. "Lose something, Apollo?"

"My datapad." Apollo replied.

"Is this yours?" Starbuck asked, offering one over from the other side of the Commander's desk.

"Uh . . . yeah. Thanks." His brow furrowed.

"Don't mention it. Thanks for your time, Commander." He smartly saluted, Apollo standing and following suit.

Adama responded in kind, "Dismissed . . . oh, and Starbuck. Apparently you're overdue for a treatment in the Life Station, not to mention that sample that Security requested. Dr. Salik asked me to mention it."

"Fra . . . uh . . . thank you, Sir."

----------

The suite of rooms on the _Rising Star_, that Chameleon had somehow managed to acquire for them, in contrast to the Spartan nature of the _Galactica_,was a little overwhelming. Here the opulence was almost garish, a kind of culture shock, especially after living in a clay hut for thirty years and gnawing on 'rotting root' for sustenance.

_Opulence? How about sybaritic decadence?_

Dayton shook his head, once again blinking his eyes at the gold and white wallpaper in a busy geographical pattern, reminding him of the 'Y' shaped symbol for peace without the enclosing circle. He reasoned it was the sole reason for the bright orange velvet-looking cushions that were arranged on the dark, oversized furniture of the sitting room. After all, they drew the eye. And if the eye wasn't pulled away from the wallpaper sooner or later, the occupants of the room would surely go blind.

"Whoa! Where are my shades, Paddy?"

"Snob quarters on the _Rising Star,_" Ryan remarked with a chuckle, following their PR man around the dining area, the central sitting room, and finally the three bedrooms—one with a king-sized bed, the others with two doubles each. "Not quite what I had in mind, I have to admit." He looked at Dayton. "Hell, you'd think I was a Senator, or Donald Trump, or something."

"Not to your tastes, Dr. Ryan?" Chameleon asked in surprise. He had thought that the men would be falling all over themselves to thank him for getting them off the Battlestar. But then he knew virtually nothing about Earth culture.

"Call me Paddy . . . or just Ryan if it's easier to remember. Well, let's just say I feel like I'm trapped in an episode of _Three's Company_, and I can't get out. God, does this decor have a volume control?" Ryan grinned at the other's perplexed visage. "And to think my wife was upset about the pastel furniture and white textured ceiling in our old family room." He shook his head, a sad smile on his face, as he looked around. "She'd be tearing her hair out if she could see this."

Dayton squeezed his friend's shoulder before turning to Chameleon. "It's just fine, Chameleon, especially for our purposes. We're just a tad overwhelmed after years of living in that cesspit of a base. Really, it's all about location and ability to get around. And we couldn't do that on a secured vessel like your Battlestar. How far _is _it to the casino . . . uh . . . gambling chancery?"

"Two levels up." Chameleon replied, pointing his thumb towards the ceiling. "I've arranged for us to meet with Aquila and his team in a centar, so I'll show you how to find your way around here. There will be an office specifically for our use in the back of the chancery." His eyes sparkled with pride at his carefully maneuvered achievement. "Coincidentally, it's right across from Aquila's and two down from Fausto's." He glanced at his chrono.

"That will be handy." Ryan nodded, knowing that it would be much easier to get valuable information for Starbuck if they could keep a close watch on Fausto's office and any security that the lieutenant might not be aware of. "Aquila's team of what?" he asked.

"Well, we need to design these playing cards you've described, not to mention learn how to play the games you've suggested and outline all the rules. We're even thinking of doing an short introductory spot for the IFB, just five to ten centons, that will be playing on the transport shuttles in the Fleet. That way people already have an idea of how to play when we debut . . . ah, yes . . . poker and blackjack at your introduction party. It will be less intimidating if they see how easy it is beforehand."

Dayton nodded. "An info-mercial. Good idea. And our . . . _financial_ arrangement with the _Rising Star_?"

"It's a straight twenty percent of the take on the tables dedicated to Earth games." Chameleon admitted proudly. "Of course, my take comes off that, which we still have to negotiate," the conman pointed out.

Ryan let out a low whistle. "How much money are we talking? Cubits, I mean. Cubits are new to us after all."

"I see. What do you use on Earth?"

"Dollars," replied Dayton, deciding that now was not the time for a discussion of comparative economics. He looked at one of the Colonial coins. While the symbols on it meant nothing to him, the material it was made of did. "Gold," he said, looking to Ryan. "At least someone still believes in the Gold Standard."

"How much are these worth individually?" asked Ryan, taking the coin from Dayton and biting it dramatically.

"Enough that you'll be living very comfortably with little effort beyond the initial investment of time and energy. Of course, the more we maintain an interest in Earth—keep the momentum going, so to speak—the more it opens up future opportunities to expand our little section in the chancery and increase our profit."

"And the more we maintain that interest in Earth, the easier it will be for Commander Adama to convince your people and this Council of Twelve that without a doubt, Earth is your best option."

Chameleon nodded. "That is true as well, Commander Dayton."

"Hmm. Call me Mark . . . " He glanced at Ryan, "or just Dayton if it's easier to remember."

"Now, let me ask you, Dayton, Ryan, if any of you have culinary abilities?" Chameleon enquired.

"You mean cooking? Yeah, Porter can make a mean meatloaf." Dayton chuckled.

"Sorry?" Chameleon asked, glancing at the languatron for a translation. _The hostile but edible flesh of animals passing their time idly._ It seemed that the rare time he needed to use the device with these two, who admittedly had an excellent grasp on Colonial Standard—unlike their cohorts—it still failed him completely. "Uhhh..."

"A meal of ground protein, seasoned and held together with . . . other stuff." Dayton shrugged, realizing that he really didn't want to admit to any cooking skills that would relegate him to a Colonial kitchen while all the action was going on elsewhere.

"Aquila is also toying with the idea of coming up with some Earth-like delicacies to serve at the soiree." Chameleon told them. "He said it would be helpful if one of you could meet with the chief steward, Zeibert, and discuss possibilities."

"Porter." Dayton and Ryan said as one, then grinned at one another.

"All right. I hope Porter appreciates you volunteering him," Chameleon murmured, knowing that the man was keeping Dickins company in the Life Station. If all went as expected, then Dickins would be discharged from the Life Station within the next couple days and the man that Starbuck had described as a 'berserker'—according to Captain Dorado of the _Pegasus_—would be joining their team.

"And when is our _Liaison Officer_ going to come crawling out from under his rock?" Dayton asked for the benefit of any bugs that Chameleon had warned them could very well be planted within the suite. Personally, he was looking forward to the lieutenant arriving and sweeping the place so they could be reasonably certain they weren't being overheard. Hell, he'd do it himself if he had any idea what the heck he was looking for. At least his men could still communicate with sign language, but Chameleon was pretty much out of the loop in that regard.

Starbuck had told him straight out that he was _using_ them to get closer to Fausto. They were, in effect, his undercover team. In return, he was offering them a future that they would have some say in, which was a lot better than being the lackeys and political props of the Council of Twelve. The governing body sounded to Dayton a hell of a lot like the political hacks back home . . .

_Hells bells! Get sucked halfway across the galaxy, and the paper-pushing, rubber stamp bunch are just the same! Why me? Huh? Why me? _

It had been Starbuck's idea that he and Dayton would build upon the tension that already existed between them, effectively distancing any blatant affiliation with the Colonial Service, and thereby decreasing any possible suspicion that might be directed at them by Fausto. It would give them the freedom to roam through the backrooms of the _Rising Star_ and observe the goings on aboard ship. While Dayton appreciated the lieutenant's caution regarding his men, he didn't appreciate being treated like a precious flower himself. Then again, he still had the bruises that proved that the Colonial Warrior knew he could take his punches as well as the next guy. _And_ give them.

"I'm sure Lieutenant Starbuck will catch up to us soon. Remember, he _is_ supposed to be getting treatments in the Life Station. Besides, the Council Liaison will be asking for an explanation as to their . . . unanticipated IFB announcement of your existence within the Fleet." Chameleon smiled mischievously, glad that Starbuck would be taking the heat on that one—after all, it _was_ his son's idea . . . well, for the _most_ part. "In the meantime, let me give you a tour of the ship. There's a lot that goes on here that you should find of interest. It might even give you some ideas as to other future endeavours in our . . . Earth Enterprises." His eyes gleamed, his brain processing all the facts, plans, and subtleties that he needed to keep in mind to not only financially set up the Earthmen, and himself, but to help Starbuck get his man. _Lords of Kobol, it was good to be back in the game._

----------

_Lieutenant Starbuck, report to the Life Station. Lieutenant Starbuck, report to the Life Station. _

"What now?" Starbuck groaned only steps away from Wilker's Science Lab.

"It could be that they want you for the treatment you were supposed to be getting several centars ago." Apollo suggested. "You know, injured person gets medical treatment? I think that there's a time sensitivity with antibiotic therapy to maintain therapeutic levels in your body."

"I don't have time for . . . " Starbuck murmured, shaking his head, and looking down the corridor, torn between checking in with Boomer, and returning for his treatment._ Lords_, _what if something happened with Lu . . . ?_

"Hey, you're taking on too much with all this. Remember, it was just yesterday that you were having surgery to remove that Obediator thing from your gut. You're supposed to be on _light_ duty, buddy" Apollo reminded him. "Instead, you're trying to bring down a crime boss while you're shuffling your roles as Liaison Officer and concerned fiancée. You can't do it all, Starbuck."

Starbuck turned, shrugging nonchalantly. "So what's your point?" He smiled abruptly at Apollo's look of consternation, shaking his head at his sudden need to be in control of every last facet of this plan. _Lords, I'm turning into a control freak. _ He'd obviously been hanging out with Apollo too long.

"I'll meet with Boomer and Baker_. You_ go get your treatment done and check in on Luana." Apollo glanced at his chrono. "I suggest you check your messages while you're at it. Chameleon should have Dayton and his men firmly ensconced on the _Rising Star_ by now. You're going to need to put in an appearance as Liaison Officer sooner or later, to keep it looking good."

"We need to touch base with Reece and Willem too. The Commander was right, if they release the news of Myrddin's death with the connection to the triad scandal, Fausto will probably relax his guard."

"And Borka's death has every indication of being blamed on one of the drug addicts on the _Maxidex_ . . . at least once you provide that sample so they can rule you out as a suspect." Apollo reminded him, hesitating when Starbuck sucked in a breath, a look of unease crossing his features. "What?"

Starbuck shook his head. "It's nothing . . ." He shifted his weight, pushing his hair from his eyes.

"Tell me." Apollo encouraged him.

"Hey, I just remember the last time I was in this position. I didn't do it then _either_, but the next thing I knew I was being tried for Ortega's termination. It doesn't exactly fill a guy with confidence."

"You _didn't_ do it." Apollo stepped forward, grasping his shoulder. "The sooner you get the sample taken, the sooner you'll be cleared. Unless you're trying to tell me that someone robbed you of DNA samples during the night so they could set you up."

"Very funny." Starbuck returned shaking off Apollo's grip, then paused, staring at his friend for a moment in a ludicrous moment of paranoia. "Could they _do_ that?"

Apollo let out a breath, shaking his head at the other. "Just go get it done. I'll talk to Reece and get them to release a statement to the IFB about Myrddin."

"Well, at least by the time I make it to the _Rising Star_, I should be cleared of throwing our games."

"You know, for a guy who purports to not caring about what other people think of him, I get the idea that this mattered a lot more than you let on." Apollo suggested.

Starbuck shrugged. "Maybe. I haven't given it much thought. I've been too busy dodging slanderous remarks from Regus, Dracus and the IFB." He feinted dramatically for a moment as though in a triad game. "Almost makes a guy glad he was stuck on a pirate base for a day. Hey, they didn't like me, but at least they didn't defame my character."

"From what I saw, those bilge rats didn't know what character is."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Go!" Apollo pointed back to the Life Station. "I'll handle this."

Starbuck nodded, pausing as he turned to go. "Thanks, buddy."

"Anytime, Starbuck. Anytime."

----------

Dr. Wilker's lab looked more like a junkyard than a science lab, with piles of unidentified artifacts from the Earth shuttle strewn about the room. As Apollo entered, he could see one of Baltar's captured Cylons helping Wilker stack various items on shelves along the freshly repainted back bulkhead. Repairs to the lab had been slow, after it was trashed in the battle with the Cylon Base Ship he and Starbuck had penetrated several sectars back. He turned to see Dayton's man, Baker, sitting at a workbench fiddling with a rectangular silver-coloured box, tools and parts scattered about him. He had just turned his head to look for Boomer when a loud cry rang out and a triad ball hit him squarely in the forehead.

"Apollo! Are you okay?"

Somehow he had come to be sitting on his astrum, leaning up against the wall, his hand on his throbbing forehead. "Frack . . . " he muttered as his hand was pulled away.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" the lieutenant asked him, peering at him in concern as he squatted beside his friend.

"Three. I see three . . . Base Ships. Dancing . . ." he murmured as the Battlestar seemed to right itself and his world stopped spinning.

"Apollo!"

Apollo peered at the blurry hand and then shook his head to clear his vision. At least that was the hope. He pushed Boomer's hand away, "What in Hades Hole were you _doing_?"

"Sorry, Captain." Technician Hummer said from his other side, kneeling down. "We were taking a little break and I was just demonstrating to Lieutenant Boomer the trajectory shift of the triad ball under the influence of the circuit board we found hidden inside it."

"Frack . . ." Apollo muttered again, struggling to his feet, Boomer and Hummer's hands on his arms to support him. He shrugged them off as he rubbed his head once again. "I guess that's why we wear helmets." He paused as they looked at him uncertainly, much like two small boys who were just caught throwing a ball through the window of a place of worship. He smiled sheepishly. "That was quite a throw, Hummer. Have you considered signing up for the League?"

"Don't let Starbuck hear you say that," Boomer smiled in relief. "He'll think you're looking for a new partner."

"Hardly." Apollo denied. "Besides, I have the feeling that his game is about to pick up."

"Why was Myrddin just targeting Starbuck anyway?" Boomer asked.

"I have no idea," Apollo replied. "One of the missing pieces to this whole dizzy affair, and I suspect that the answer might have died with Myrddin."

"Perhaps it had something to do with the Gold Team always winning. After all, with the odds heavily stacked in your favour, those that bet against you would rake in some considerable profits. That and the fact that Lieutenant Starbuck almost died after that mission on Alrin, not to mention his extended medical leave after the Planet Empyrean. It would justify to a certain extent his play being affected, at least on the surface," Hummer opined. "Sir."

Boomer nodded. "You have to admit, Apollo, none of us gave it all that much thought. We thought he was just off his game."

"True." Apollo shrugged, then looked from him to Baker. "What do you have there?"

"Check this out, Captain." Hummer enthused, striding to Baker's station. "This is a portable holovid player. Or rather a primitive version of one. The images and sound are stored on these digital vid discs . . ." he held one up for demonstration purposes. ". . . they're an archaic optical data storage and retrieval medium that uses an extremely low-power modulated laser to . . ."

Apollo nodded as Hummer rambled on, describing everything with far too much technical detail as far as he was concerned. Baker nodded at the captain, but continued to tinker with the silver box, shaking his head in frustration as he tried to make the archaic technology of early twenty-first century Earth interface with tribunal-rigged Colonial era replacement parts.

The captain noticed a languatron flashing at Baker's side. Baker briefly looked at Hummer in bemusement, his fingers briefly covering his right ear, before returning to his project.

"Hummer rigged up a short range transceiver with a noise limiting circuit that Baker can wear in his ear canal." Boomer explained. "That way everything we say is constantly being translated for him, and the extraneous noises don't interfere. He also recalibrated the languatron again."

"Good idea. Some of the stuff we were getting earlier was hideous. To be kind. How's that going, Baker? The translating," Apollo asked the Earthman.

Baker nodded as he picked up another languatron. "Much better, Captain. Humuhumunukunukuapua'a is a bright kid." He nodded at Hummer. "I'm actually beginning to believe we'll get this old DVD player up and running shortly. Lieutenant Boomer found a stack of discs, so it'll be a kick to see what still works after being tossed around the hangar and the shuttle for thirty years." He sighed testily, as he slid a ribbon cable into place at the back of the device, then inserted probe tips. "It's a bloody shame really. We took a fantastic collection of stuff up there to add to the Space Station's library. A case with, oh . . . fifty different titles in it. So far, only about sixteen intact discs have been recovered, and what's salvageable from them, we're not sure yet."

"What sort of things, Baker? These disks." Apollo picked one up and looked it over. One side was printed with images and lettering, none of which meant a thing to him. There were numerous scratches on the printing, and the face of the person depicted on the label was almost completely obscured.

"A real cross-section of stuff, Captain, if I remember. Movies. Docu . . ."

"Uhh . . . what was that? 'Move eez'?"

" 'Movies.' Old term in my native language for 'moving pictures'. Our version of what your Doctor Wilker called 'holovids'. Ah, bloody hell!" he swore, as the reading on the tester seemingly did not agree with him. He pulled a component out of the device, and soldered another one in its place. "There. Now where . . . oh, right. Yeah, there were movies. Tons of great ones too. Old classics from way back. Documentaries. Technical journals for the ISS' library. Some great old TV shows . . . and some bad ones too." He grinned in memory. "Along with what was already there, of course." He sighed angrily. "All toast, now." He set the tool down, and began testing again. He apparently liked the results this time, for the scowl turned to a smile. He picked up a jumper, linked two points, then plugged in another cable. At once, the unit began to hum, a light blinking on its front. A tray slid out, and Baker set it down.

"Alright! Gotcha, ya little piece of . . ." He reached over, and activated a small monitor. It showed a raster, and he picked up a disk, placing it into the device. It slid shut, and they all waited.

"Well?"

"We shall see in a moment, Humuhumunukunukuapua'a. Provided I haven't screwed up, and it fries its innards."

"Uh . . . maybe you need to tweak the languatron again, Hummer." Boomer suggested, as the 'name' that had indicated the young technician echoed through his brain like a war chant of old. _ Something about a gluttonous fish . . .? And then there was something about the player possibly '_cooking its internal bodily organs over direct heat in the esters of glycerol and fatty acids'. He shook his head. Starbuck was right. _Electronic felgercarb._

"Actually, that _is_ my name, Lieutenant. I merely shorten it to 'Hummer' out of consideration to others . . . and the occasional shortness of breath." The technician grinned, then turned to the monitor.

"Wow!" said Baker. "Cool!" He chuckled aloud.

Images flashed across the screen, jerky and torn, with no sound. Swearing softly under his breath, Baker made some adjustments. After a few moments, the progression of images smoothed out, adding sound to movement. Music, and a voice speaking far too quickly to make any sense of it—lending it the comedic aspect that was amusing the Earthman—wafted from the speaker, and the pictures continued in rapid speed. Apollo leaned closer as a avian-eye view of a trip down a lazy, winding river was sporadically interrupted by flashes of powerful waterfalls, seemingly impenetrable gorges, strange aquatic reptiles with tapered jaws and vicious teeth, and dangerous rapids. He sucked in his breath as he glimpsed enormous statues, strange beasts of burden with humps on their backs, vast expanses of sand, a tribe of people in strange and colourful robes in a sunken temple of stone, and breathtaking scenery. Then abruptly one image came on screen and he could feel a shiver running down his back. Structures, eerily like the pyramids at Kobol, loomed in a desert background.

"What the . . . can you freeze that?" said Boomer, pointing at the frame.

Baker complied, the stream of images halting abruptly.

"Lords of Kobol . . ." Apollo muttered. "Boomer . . ."

"I know." While he hadn't had the benefit of visiting Kobol, being sick as a daggit at the time from some alien bug, the descriptions of his fellow warriors and that of Commander Adama had vividly painted an image in Boomer's mind. And that image was now frozen before him and apparently replicated on the planet Earth.

"That was the Nile River." Baker explained through the languatron. "It's the longest river on Earth. I remember seeing this in the theatre. This group of explorers took something like three or four months to journey by raft and kayak from the source of the Blue Nile—Lake Tana in Ethiopia—right back to the Mediterranean Sea. That was over three thousand miles." He paused as they looked blankly at him, the captain mouthing _miles _questioningly. "Yeah? Well, now you know how _I _feel most of the time around _you_ guys." He grinned. "I don't know how to translate 'miles', but a fit guy can run one in about six minutes."

"The _Blue _Nile?" Apollo asked, noticing the differentiation. "There are colours?"

"Well, I think it has something to do with the purity of the water. Or maybe it was more relevant years ago." He shrugged. "As you can see by the video, it still looks brown and murky to me. Anyhow, there are two main tributaries for the Nile River." Baker grabbed a piece of paper, and sketched a rough map of Egypt and the surrounding area. "Okay, this is the Nile River proper. These two rivers join here, to form a single stream. The Blue and the White—also brown and murky as you can see." His face crinkled in amusement. "For years, before satellite imaging technology, or even airplanes, we thought that the source of the Nile—the place that most of the water came from—was the White Nile." He ran a finger along the sketch. "It's actually the longer of the two. But, in fact, at the height of the rainy season, the Blue Nile provides up to two-thirds of the water to the Nile Valley."

"Tell us about the pyramids," Boomer asked. His voice was tense. Whip tight.

"You know, you should really ask Dayton. His father was an Egyptologist—he studied the civilizations of ancient Egypt." He pointed to the frozen screen. "That's where these pyramids are. It's part of the mystique of the Nile to those of us from Earth. You see, thousands of years before our time, the annual Nile floods contributed to the fertility of the Nile Valley and the consequent rise of ancient Egyptian civilization and Egyptian Mythology. Dayton could give you the skinny on all of that."

"Uhhh . . . the extreme thinness of information?" asked Hummer, scowling at the languatron.

"Accurate information," Baker amended. Inside he smiled. _Nice to know these guys aren't perfect. Their stuff screws up too._

"How _many_ thousands of yahren?" Apollo asked, entranced. "I mean years. In _your_ time."

"Five, since Egyptian civilization was unified. Give or take. But it goes even further back than that. Again, Dayton's your man," Baker insisted. "All I remember about it is what I learned in school, and from stuff on TV."

"So, the Thirteenth Tribe would have already been on Earth for at least a couple thousand yahren when these pyramids were built . . ." He looked at Boomer, shaking his head in awe.

"Rumour has it." Baker agreed.

"Bridge?" called Apollo into the comm unit. "Commander, can you come to Doctor Wilker's lab?"

----------

"All caught up now?" Starbuck murmured to Luana as he nudged her over gently, but insistently, and climbed up on the biostretcher beside her. He had quietly filled her in on his general plan as he completed another round of treatments, after they had done DNA testing. Security, of course, would hear the results before he would . . . which wasn't encouraging in the least.

"Starbuck!" Luana laughed, but let out a sigh of contentment as his arms enveloped her and he pulled her back against the length of his body. "Mm. That's nice. But don't let Dr. Salik catch you, or he'll have a fit." The privacy factor of a closed curtain didn't seem like much of a barrier to the rest of the Life Station.

"I feel a bit . . . faint." He chuckled. "Hmm. . . actually, maybe some mouth to mouth is in order. Hmm?" He grinned lasciviously as she squirmed against him, rolling over, until she faced him.

"I wish I was out of here . . . " she pouted, running a finger along his bottom lip. "I want to help. Not lie around, doing nothing."

"Believe me, Sweetheart," he breathed, "you _are_ helping." He plucked at the neckline of her Life Station gown.

She grinned, grabbing his hand and leaning in for a teasing kiss. Once again, his arms encircled her and Starbuck pulled her close, until it seemed they were melded together as one. His hand slowly and sensuously caressed her bare back, and then possessively gripped her astrum, pulling her even closer. She sighed, her hand clenched in his hair as their kiss intensified. She subtly gyrated her hips against his, a little surprised by the sudden onslaught of passion that seemed to overwhelm them both. Lords, it seemed like sectons since she had made love to Starbuck, and her body didn't hesitate to communicate her need . . . her desire . . . to her lover. Nor did his.

"Ah hem!"

A heavy hand clamped down on Starbuck's shoulder and Salik's voice barked in his ear, "Lieutenant!"

Starbuck pulled back a milli-metron, drawing a deep breath and letting it out as he willed his body back under control. "I think . . . " he drew another breath, "I'm feeling better now." His eyes twinkled at he smiled at Luana. "Thanks."


	75. Chapter 75

Starbuck sighed, as he rechecked his messages on his datapad for the second time that morning. As anticipated, he had a request—more closely resembling a _demand _actually—to meet with Sire Dracus in his quarters on the _Rising Star_ to 'discuss the presentation of Commander Mark Dayton and his crew before a scheduled assembly of the Council of Twelve'. Yesterday had seemed unending, and this one was shaping up the same way. He leaned his head back against the bulkhead of the shuttle, mentally calculating how long it would take to get through a conversation with Dracus. Bureauticians were notoriously longwinded, the Sire extremely so, but with just the proper amount of righteous indignation for Dracus' wrongful accusations, balanced with some thinly veiled disrespect and a healthy dose of his trademark mordant wit . . . _Hades, Dracus will fire you out of there quicker than_ . . . He smirked. _Yeah, quicker than Technician Hummer could hurl a triad ball at the Strike Captain._

A lazy grin spread across his face and he chuckled quietly, drawing a few curious glances from those around him. Well, it wasn't the first time people had stared at him questioningly_. Lords, to have seen the look on Apollo's face!_

Then again, his time spent with Luana in the Life Station had been well worth missing the incident in Wilker's lab. In fact, by the time he had arrived back there to grab an analyzer for detecting transceivers that could potentially be planted in the Earthmen's quarters on the _Rising Star_, Apollo, Boomer, Hummer, Baker and even the Commander were all gathered around a tiny vid screen, trying to watch one of the Earth vid disks, muttering in frustration because the superannuated electronic felgercarb that they had tried to raise from the dead had just packed it in _again_.

Truth be known, he would have _loved_ to have seen the images of Earth that Apollo and Boomer had enthusiastically described to him, images that bore no small resemblance to the ruins on Kobol, but he knew that if he didn't drag his weary bones back to the billet and collapse on his bunk, he was going to drop dead from exhaustion. Apollo's words came back to him as he had rubbed at gritty eyes feeling more like a little kid than a decorated Colonial Officer, _"You're supposed to be on light duty, buddy. Instead, you're trying to bring down a crime boss while you're shuffling your roles as Liaison Officer and concerned fiancée. You can't do it all, Starbuck."_ And last night his body was agreeing with the captain. When Adama caught him stifling a yawn while leaning over the Earth vid screen and stared at him pointedly, those familiar eyebrows raised and that brow furrowed in a frown of disapproval, he was afraid the Commander was going to send him to the billet. _Yeah, I can just see it. "Lieutenant. It's well past your rest period. Off to bed with you."_

In any case, he had known that he had to get some desperately needed rest so he could be in top form this morning to meet with Chameleon on the _Rising__Star_. He had something to prove to the elderly conman, and it would take all of his skill-admittedly somewhat outdated, but recently refreshed—to do it. Baker had also given him a small box containing some personal documents and belongings of his fellow Earthmen that had been recovered from under a pile of debris inside the _Endeavour_, and had asked that Starbuck make sure he got it to Dayton. Ever curious as to these men and their customs, he had looked inside to see several flat, pocket-sized folding cases, seemingly made of some kind of animal hide, which contained several laminated cards that he was unable to make any sense of—other than to recognize several very outdated holoptics of the Earthmen. Obviously, they were a form of identification. Several fragile pieces of paper, printed in a variety of colours and with some sort of portrait on one side, were also within, and he was careful to avoid touching them as they looked like they would disintegrate at the slightest touch.

The _really_ interesting artifact, at least from his perspective, was a deck of Earth playing cards. Fifty in all—though Baker had mentioned a couple were missing—the rectangular shaped cards would be the templates for the Earth decks developed for the _Rising Star_ likely moving up the date of the _Journey to Earth_ soiree by a couple days. The images upon them were a mixture of the obvious and the obscure. Some were obviously numbers, while others bore images that made no sense to him. He couldn't resist slowly sifting the cards through his fingers, enjoying the _feel_ of the well-worn surfaces. He checked his chrono, and continued to casually finger the Earth deck as Zed from the IFB interviewed some guy who primarily collected ducats for a living on a transport shuttle.

_We interrupt this edition of the '__Unsung Heroes of the Centar_'_ for the latest on the accusations that Lieutenant Starbuck—one half of the Championship winning Gold Team—accepted bribes to throw his triad games. This reporter was just informed by Colonial Security that a man has been found dead on the __Malocchio__ Freighter of an apparent heart attack. Myrddin, a forty-eight yahren old electronics shop keeper and a member of the esteemed Archimage Society, was discovered yesterday accidentally by the Imperial Empyrean Necromancer, Ama, on a social call. A careful search of his quarters and adjoining electronics shop by Colonial Security consequently revealed several electronically altered triad balls with handheld remote units that when activated, subtly change the trajectory of a triad ball once in play. In conjunction with this compelling evidence, Security Officer Reece reports that betting records prove that Myrddin wagered heavily against the Gold Team, raking in a substantial profit, the precise amount not yet revealed by our sources. Oddly, the shopkeeper did not even bother to attend games that Lieutenant Starbuck was not participating in. Possibly, Myrddin was acting out a grudge against the infamous Lieutenant Starbuck. After all, the decorated Lieutenant is known in some Empyrean circles as the man who single-handedly brought to an end generations of proud tradition in Empyrean Society when he first kissed Lady Aurelia of the House of Albus, abruptly ending her betrothal to Rogane of the House of Regus, and then again when he—a commoner—became betrothed to Princess Luana, second in succession to the Empyrean throne. Or was Myrddin merely testing his invention on an athlete that he selected randomly, and Lieutenant Starbuck was in the wrong place at the wrong time?_

The shuttle went strangely silent while before there had been the usual murmur of people talking quietly. Starbuck looked up from the cards to see every eye on him. Necks craned as people turned to peer at him around seats and over seat tops. Some looked away as he met their gaze, some smiled shyly, others nodded abruptly and then broke eye contact. Then one man rose from his seat a few centimetrons, as if to bring attention to himself, and said, "Good lad, I didn't think you'd pull a flimflam on us, Starbuck." He casually saluted the warrior.

Starbuck smiled weakly, feeling entirely uncomfortable with this attention. Days ago he couldn't believe his people could condemn him so readily, whether it be openly on the IFB as Zed asked passersby on the Comm-Tel Ship for their personal opinions, or in the accusing or curious stares he had received since then. While he had steeled himself against each gaze of disgust or disappointment, telling himself that as long as _he_ knew the truth it didn't matter, it had been almost easier to bear than this unexpected and encouraging show of support. A smattering of people began to clap their hands and he raised his own, at first to still them, and finally—when the transport cohesively broke into a round of applause—to just . . . wave and dredge up his trademark grin.

----------

Aquila certainly ran a smooth operation, Dayton reflected as he watched the chancery's creative team of four as they scurried about the large office that was now concerned with Poker, Blackjack, and any other related Earth themes. He had made it down the corridor several times, ostensibly to check out the space in the chancery designated for _the Journey to Earth_ section, and had each time carefully taken note of the presence of security measures that weren't on the schematic that Starbuck had shown him. Unfortunately, each time he had wandered past Fausto's office, the door had been shut, the man invisible . . . or at least unavailable.

Now, he was getting ready to make another run, this time more to stretch his cramped legs and rest his weary brain. As much as he hated to admit it, he found the sedentary work tiring. Trying to remember every rule, pertinent word or phrase, and the strategy involved in _Texas Hold 'Em,_ as he simultaneously tried to describe what an Earth deck of cards looked like and attempted to come up with something that might be representative of Texas for their sign . . . Hell's Bells, he was beginning to wish he'd picked Blackjack!

"I need a break," Dayton stood abruptly.

"Go ahead, Commander Dayton," Vicare told him, as he pounded the keys of his computer, inputting the information the Earthman had given him. "Take ten. I'll have plenty to keep me busy here for a while."

"Thanks a helluva lot," Dayton replied sardonically as he stretched his back muscles and escaped into the corridor once again. Bloody hell, he hadn't been able to walk this far in a straight line without having his guts explode in so many years. It was still a lot to take in.

As usual, he could see Aquila sitting at his desk, busy on the commline. He strolled down the corridor, surprised to see Fausto's door open a crack this time. A quick glance up and down the corridor revealed he was alone and he crept to the doorway and listened.

". . . our esteemed Quorum member is _most _perturbed about the whelp's condition." The voice was low and gravelly. "I can't say I disagree. Eh? Alas, I can't be held responsible for things that are beyond my control."

The ensuing silence made Dayton realize this particular commline was more like a telephone back home, since he could only hear one side of the conversation.

The voice became unctuous. "Yes, I heard. An interesting turn of events. A shame really. At least it was profitable while it lasted." Again a silence followed by an almost depraved laughter. "Isn't that just . . . _perfect_."

Dayton whipped his head around at a sound from the corridor. A man was stepping into the hallway, his back currently turned to Dayton. If he didn't do something somewhat intelligent soon, he'd be discovered, and he had a feeling that wouldn't be healthy for him. But thirty years of staying alive in Torg's pit of Hell had taught him to think fast. In an instant, he raised his fist and knocked sharply on Fausto's door.

The immediate cessation of laughter inside the office filled him with an unease that he hadn't experienced since his early days on the pirate base. The door jerked open, and a man of average height, just slightly shorter than Dayton, with short silver hair was instantly before him, his narrowed black eyes assessing this intruder, wondering what he wanted . . . what he had heard.

"Hello. I'm Commander Mark Dayton of the Earth Shuttle _Endeavour_ . . ." Dayton began, holding out a hand, and smiling a smile worthy of an Oscar.

Fausto looked down at the proffered hand, then back up at Dayton, ignoring it completely. "I watch the IFB from time to time. I know who you are, Commander Dayton."

"Oh, I see. I understand you handle the sports side of this operation?" he adlibbed, withdrawing his hand.

Fausto nodded slowly. "Yes, sports betting and general management of the Triad League. What of it?" His tone was curious, but polite.

"Well, as you know, Aquila's idea that your people would find Earth card games. . . uh, and other games of chance interesting is why we're here . . . I was wondering if you thought that would extend at all to Earth sports?" Dayton asked.

"Earth sports?" Fausto's eyebrows arched for a moment as he considered the question. "Do you have any Earth sports that could be played in a small arena suitable for the _Rising Star_ . . . assuming you have seen our facilities?"

Dayton nodded as he wracked his brain. "Chameleon showed us the courts before we came here. And, yes, there are a few games that could be played in a smaller venue, such as those. I certainly realize you aren't equipped to supply a football field or a baseball diamond." He shook his head at Fausto's confusion. "Never mind. Ah, sports requiring a great deal of land."

Fausto nodded, then sniffed loudly. "Come in, Commander Dayton." He fanned his hand before him in welcome. "Please sit down."

"I only have ten of your . . . ah, centons to spare, then Vicare is expecting me back." Dayton explained, walking into the lion's den and preparing himself to watch every move that the man made from here on in.

"I believe Vicare will make allowances once he realizes who you're with, Commander." Fausto waved a hand in the air as if it was inconsequential.

"I like to keep my appointments." Dayton told him, realizing the ten minute . . . centon limit would be an advantage while he held his head in the mouth of the lion and tickled his tonsils.

"Business before pleasure." Fausto smiled as Dayton open his mouth to clarify who Vicare was. "Business before all else, Commander Dayton." He sniffed, then smiled unpleasantly.

----------

Sire Dracus' antechamber was more reminiscent of the home of an accomplished warrior than that of a statesman, sporting various long swords of different ages and cultures that hung decoratively on the walls. Starbuck couldn't resist reaching up to touch one, feeling the thickness of the blade and marveling at the tight fittings of the pommel and hilt, and the superb quality of the workmanship.

"Are you a . . . connoisseur of fine weapons, Lieutenant?"

Starbuck whirled around, surprised that the bureautician could creep up on him. Dracus, as usual, was dressed impeccably in the latest robes of the highest dignitaries. Always a fashion statement to be sure.

"Sire Dracus . . ." Starbuck nodded at the man. "You wanted to see me."

"Yesterday, Lieutenant," Dracus told him briskly.

"Better late than never," Starbuck shrugged, keeping his features carefully indifferent as the man glared at him.

"I believe I . . . owe you an apology, Lieutenant. According to the IFB, you're innocent of taking bribes in the recent triad scandal." The man looked as though he was passing a kidney stone, and trying to enjoy it.

"Now . . . was that really so painful?" Starbuck asked with a rueful smile.

"Probably more than you'll ever know," Dracus replied, his face impassive.

Starbuck let out a short sniff of appreciation as he turned back to the swords. "This is incredible, Sire Dracus. I've never seen a collection like it, even in a museum. How did you manage to save them from the Destruction?"

"They were on exhibit right here on the _Rising Star_ when the Cylons attacked the Colonies. I had one of the finest collections in the Colonies. This is all that is left of it. A mere fraction of what there was. You might say I was simply reunited with my . . . obsession when I managed to get passage here after I was elected to the Council." He stepped forward joining the warrior in his admiration of the blade. "It's over four hundred yahrens old."

"_Lords _. . ." Starbuck murmured. "And _I _thought the _military_ was slow to upgrade."

Dracus stared at him indignantly . . . before noticing the slight curve to Starbuck's lips as the younger man once again reached out, fingering the basket hilt above the blade. The bureautician smiled ever so slightly. "A warrior _and_ a sense of humour. I didn't realize they existed concurrently."

"Life is full of surprises," Starbuck replied, his gaze following the edge of the blade. It still looked as if it could slice through flesh with little effort.

"Have you ever seen a Claymore before, Lieutenant?" asked the Sire.

"Once, in a museum. I didn't know swords had names though."

"Oh, yes. This," he indicated the weapon before them, "is called a Claymore. It comes from a term in an ancient dialect on my home Colony, _claidheamh mòr, _which just means 'big sword'."

"That it is," said the Viper pilot, fingering the tassels hanging from the hilt. "Sure looks deadly."

"Yes, but beautiful even so. Not like the standard stamped-out blades the Cylon Centurions wear. Inferior quality."

Starbuck nodded, moving to the next long sword. He had seen those Cylon blades up close on more than one occasion, once on Baltar's Base Ship, and again when he had been captured on Attila. Both times, the 'inferior' blades seemed more than capable of separating head from shoulders should the need arise. He shook off the memories. "And this one?"

"Also called a Claymore, Lieutenant, though with a totally different sort of hilt, as you can see." This one was long, nearly as long as Starbuck was tall, and shone brightly in the light. The hilt was a sort of inverted 'V', the pommel a small green-coloured stone clamped tight in what looked like gold. "It's sometimes referred to as a _claidheamh da lamh, _which means 'two-handed sword'. She's over two-thousand yahren old."

Starbuck just whistled, shaking his head. "So . . . uh, when do you want the Earthmen to formally meet with the Council?" he asked.

"About ninety centons ago when we were fully convened and awaiting them in the _Rising Star_'s boardroom. Perhaps you didn't read my message?" Dracus asked.

Starbuck glanced at him casually. "I thought it was a . . . _suggestion_. You know, requiring _confirmation_." He shrugged dramatically. Dracus really had no way of knowing that he hadn't even looked at the message until that morning, while he was trying to choke down a quick meal before heading to the launch bay to catch a transport. "You see, as Liaison Officer I have to maintain communication _between_ parties. _Two-way_ communication." He smiled briefly before returning his glance to the ancient weapon. More ancient than the war with the Cylons. "I'll be meeting with Commander Dayton after I leave here."

"Ah, a failure to _clearly_ communicate. I see." Dracus returned, smiling slightly at the other. "A common hazard in the bureaucratic arena."

Starbuck nodded. "I've heard that."

"Now here . . ." Dracus lifted the sword off the wall, drawing it from its scabbard. "Note the balance as you hold the weapon." He handed it to Starbuck who took it reluctantly. "It subtly pulls the weapon forward without make it cumbersome. It helps direct the blade as it is wielded."

"Lords, it weighs a megon!"

"Well, those old-time warriors were big men, Lieutenant. Muscles like granite columns, some of them." He looked the lieutenant up and down thoughtfully as if reflecting that he was a warrior of a different weight class. "In the right hands, one of these could hack a man to pieces through all but the heaviest armour."

Starbuck stood to the side, holding the long sword before him with both hands as instructed, feeling a bit like a kid playing make believe. Memories of ancient tales and poems, with chivalrous knights on equusback, riding out from castles, fighting dragons and rescuing damsels in distress filtered through his mind for a brief micron. The sword was surprisingly easy to manipulate once he adjusted his grip and stance, and he couldn't resist thrusting it forward to terminate the loathsome beast that reared its hideous head, threatening to consume entire villages of lonely vestal virgins . . .

"Addicting, is it not?" Dracus asked, with a smile.

"Never would have thought it of you, Dracus . . . Sire Dracus." Starbuck hastily corrected himself as he returned the long sword.

"If I could have chosen the age that I lived in, it would have been before space travel. A time when things were decided by the blade," he held the sword up to the light, gazing at the blade almost reverently, "instead of by the laser blaster."

"Sounds like you're an Empyrean wannabe." Starbuck jested, pausing as the man startled and looked at him searchingly. "I meant, because they prefer a . . . simpler way of life. Less dependant upon modern technology. The lifestyle of a Luddite for the most part."

"I see. Well, that is now changing, even for the Empyreans. I'm certain they never thought they would potentially see a Caprican commoner on their throne through the abdication of Princess Lia and the subsequent marriage of Princess Luana. If you indeed plan to rise to the throne?" He stared at Starbuck for an instant, pausing to weave the blade before him with evident skill and showmanship, before returning his gaze to the young man.

The lieutenant wasn't sure if that was supposed to be a message or a threat, but either way, he didn't really care. "_Emperor Starbuck_." Starbuck grinned brashly. "Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

"Well, beware, Lieutenant," said Dracus, sheathing his blade and returning it to its hallowed place upon the wall. "Throughout history, few Emperors have enjoyed the rewards of old age." He considered the warrior almost regrettably before adding. "Now, about the Earthmen..."

----------

"How's the head today?" Boomer asked as he and Apollo walked into the Security Office.

Apollo spared him a glance, deciding to ignore the comment. Why in Hades Hole did everybody find it so damn funny that he had been decked by a triad ball? He couldn't help but think this wouldn't have received half the amount of attention if it had been Boomer on the receiving end. He sighed, turning towards the officer on duty. Reece had commed him, letting him know that the DNA results on Starbuck had been fast tracked. "Reece. What's the verdict?"

"Starbuck's cleared." Reece told him from behind his desk, appearing somewhat relieved to give the news to the man's best friends. Though he had seriously doubted that Starbuck had anything to do with the termination, one had to admit that the warrior had an uncanny habit of being in the wrong place at the _most_ inconvenient time. Like when the bodies turned up. Then there was his bloody temper, which the Security Officer had witnessed first hand on more than one occasion. "And, you're not going to _believe_ this. We found _another_ body on the _Maxidex_. But, this guy has blood on his hands . . . and his clothes. I think we've found Borka's killer."

"Did you find the termination weapon?" Apollo asked.

Reece nodded. "Yeah, at least it looks that way. Some kind of fancy knife."

"Fancy?"

"Willem said it was a real show piece. Old. Well crafted. Kind of ornate. We haven't matched the DNA samples yet, but we found the knife on the dead kid's body. Inside his jacket. Will is over on the _Malocchio_ Freighter. He had to notify the next of kin about the kid." He motioned for the warriors to sit down.

"Kid?" Boomer asked, pulling up a chair and straddling it.

"Yeah, all of nineteen or twenty. Tops. Probably a user from the look of him. Lots of old scarring around the usual injection sites to go with the most recent marks." Reece shook his head in distaste. "Sure _looks_ like a overdose. The toxicology screen will tell us for sure. If not, we wait for the post mortem to find out the cause of death."

"Elysium?" Boomer rested his arms atop the chair's back.

"That's the poison of choice these days, Lieutenant." Reece nodded. "The weird thing is this kid is from a good family." He paused. "_Was _from a good family, I should say. Upper class. I don't understand what would motivate him to carve up sludge like Borka for a few cubits."

"Maybe a adverse reaction to the Elysium. Who is he?" Apollo asked, perching on the edge of the desk. The _Malocchio_ was the largest passenger freighter in the Fleet, so the chances of him knowing the identity of the kid was unlikely, still . . .

"Rogane. Son of the Great House of Regus."

"_What_?" Apollo blurted out. "Holy frack . . ."

"Rogane the Toad?" Boomer asked the captain, almost regretting the words the moment they left his lips. He could still picture the indignant snob, short, chunky and prematurely balding, as he strutted around with his nose in the air, and an aura of superiority while he put on the stiff upper lip required to mix with the warrior-class at the Empyrean Ball. Starbuck had referred to the extremely unpleasant young man as 'the toad' ever since that night when the lieutenant had kissed the other's betrothed, Lady Aurelia, and had started a cascading series of events that seemed to irrevocably link him with the Empyrean people from that point onward.

Apollo nodded. "The same. You know, every time the pieces to this puzzle start to fall in place," he shook his head in bemusement, "something else happens to complicate things."

"Maybe they're not related." Boomer suggested. "Coincidence?"

"Regus' son kills Borka? Not just _kills_ him, but _mutilates_ him? I don't think so." Apollo shook his head. "Borka was a trained goon. Rogane, a bureatician's spoilt brat. There's the chance of snow on Borellus that Rogane randomly picked Borka and brutalized him while under the influence of Elysium . . . just before dropping dead of an overdose. Oh, and the Cylons just got religion." He rolled his eyes dramatically. " No. Besides, it would never have occurred to me that Rogane had a drug dependency."

"But," Reece responded, "his family wouldn't exactly advertise it if he did. It would dishonour the family name." He shook his head. "No, with Regus one of the heads of the Great Houses, they'd keep something like that good and quiet."

"Reece is right." Boomer agreed. "I think someone was pulling strings here. Manipulating this from off-stage somewhere. What would Rogane even be doing on the _Maxidex_? He could barely stand being in the same Fleet as those 'common riff-raff', let alone on board the same ship with them. And why would he attack Borka for a few cubits when he comes from a wealthy family?"

"I'm inclined to agree with you both." Reece nodded thoughtfully. "However, if the kid had a drug problem, then the _Maxidex _is the place to get Elysium, no questions asked. There's a dealer around every bulkhead, and some don't even cut the stuff. As to Borka, I think that just reeks of Fausto's involvement."

"How do we prove that?" Boomer asked. "These dirt bags aren't exactly leaving a trail of clues behind. Live ones, anyway."

"Maybe we should start by asking Sire Regus." Apollo suggested.

"Do you really think that he'll want to talk to us?" Boomer asked.

"He doesn't have a choice." Reece replied, holding up a sheaf of holoptics. He handed them to Apollo. "Besides, anything less could be considered an obstruction of Colonial Justice. At least that's my story, and I'm sticking to it."

Apollo showed them to Boomer. "Who's that with Rogane?" He didn't recognize the stocky, muscular man with bristly, dark hair.

"Guidobaldo. He's Fausto's second in command. The man who reputably does his dirty work for the most part." Reece explained. "Those were taken on the _Malocchio_ first thing yesterday morning."

Boomer let out a low whistle. "Not long after Myrddin had been terminated. Hades Hole, we might have hit the jackpot."


	76. Chapter 76

For the 'guy in charge', he was surprisingly hard to track down. _Maybe you should climb inside one of Wilker's gutted Cylons and storm the duty office. Perhaps that would get his attention._

As though it was a message from the Lords of Kobol, he suddenly rounded a corner and appeared with Boomer and . . . Reece. _Reece? What in Hades Hole is he doing with Reece?_ Of course, he was headed in the opposite direction and at something approaching the speed of light . . . which was fairly typical of their relationship at this point.

"Apollo!" Sheba called out. Loudly. Emphatically, some would even say.

The men turned as a unit, which would have been impressive if they were fighter crafts or rhythmic dancers . . . but they were just _men_. And on her list of all things living, they currently fell slightly above roachons on the evolutionary scale.

_Only_ just.

The Strike Roachon paused as he saw her. He said something to the other two, and they nodded briskly, then turned to scurry off on their . . . _quest_. For it had to be a _quest_. Something of such incredible importance that Apollo would be involved up to his Colonial . . . eyeballs. Something that nobody else, _but_ Apollo could handle. As was his want.

"Sheba." His smile was genuinely warm and inviting as he approached, but she still noticed that he looked at his chronometer.

_Roachons develop technology! See it here tonight, on the IFB!_

"Apollo." She nodded, pasting on a smile, wishing she had been fresh from the turbo wash, and not recently in from patrol with a bad case of helmet head. The patrol had turned up no sign of the planet Axius, but she could tell him that later. For now . . ."You must have been _busy_ yesterday evening." She ran her fingers through her hair self-consciously, somehow _ah-hem_-ing without the usual sound effect.

"_Was_ _I_," he agreed, nodding his head, rolling his eyes, his face screwed up painfully. Or maybe that was just her perception of it. "I was tied up until 2300 in the Science Lab with my father, Boomer, and . . ." This time his face _definitely _twisted, almost as though he had suddenly caught a whiff of something absolutely rancid. _Yes, that's the scent of hunted roachon, Apollo. Don't ever forget that scent!_ His eyes opened wide and he held his hand up to his forehead as if a good smack to the grey matter could somehow make a difference now. Then again, she had heard that it took a well thrown triad ball to the head to actually get his attention these days. "Lords . . . Sheba." He truly looked horrified. "Our . . . dinner." He shook his head dismally. "I forgot all about it. I'm guilty. I confess."

It took just about every scrap of self-control that she had to reply calmly, "It was delicious. A bit much for one woman, but still delicious."

He shook his head, yet again, as if he was still in denial that this could happen to him. "I'm sorry." He drew in a breath and then reached for her hand hesitantly. "I know how badly I screwed up. Of all the times to forget . . ." He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. "I'm _so_ sorry, Sheba."

It was one of the better displays of self-flagellation that she had seen, short of pulling out a bovinewhip and giving himself a few lashes. Then again, after the confrontation that they had had on the asteroid, she had _deserved_ a nice dinner out with him to talk about things that were obviously on both of their minds. Instead . . . he stood her up.

"What was so important?" she asked again, ready, as usual, to give him the benefit of the doubt . . . with the correct supporting evidence, that is.

Apollo puffed out a breath of air. "Starbuck's involved in . . . " He rubbed his forehead. "Lords! Where do I _even_ begin?"

_Starbuck._ Starbuck needed a constant stream of friends, lovers and medical support staff to keep him upright and breathing, it seemed. Except when in a cockpit. "What's he done _now_?" she asked ruefully.

"Let's just say he decided to strike up a personal vendetta against one of the most powerful criminals in the Fleet. Since then there have been three terminations that look to be related, one of them being Rogane, the son of . . . "

"_Regus?_" she gasped, all thoughts of the errant Apollo driven out of her head for the moment. "That . . ."

Apollo nodded. "You remember."

Of course she remembered. The Empyrean Ball. _Rogane the Toad_. Starbuck had kissed the Toad's betrothed. And Sheba . . . had _uttered_ _profanity_ before the assembly. Loudly. Emphatically, some would even say.

Only days afterwards she had found herself crashing the Empyrean Quorum trying to force the small bureaucratic gathering, including Regus and Rogane, to vote in favour of lifting the Empyrean Curse from Starbuck. By then the lieutenant had been so ill and delirious, that even the no-nonsense Dr. Salik had believed it was the only chance left to save Starbuck's life after a crawlon's venomous bite.

Sheba bit her lip, shaking her head. "What can I do to help?"

Apollo paused, considering her for a couple microns. He lightly brushed fingers against her cheek. "Are you sure?" he asked quietly. "Really?"

"Of course," she nodded. "Hey, if it makes you feel any better, if our roles were reversed . . . " She paused for effect. " I'd _certainly _stand _you_ up for Starbuck. After all, he's just _sooo_ . . . " She left the message unsaid, letting Apollo finish it as he saw fit. She smiled devilishly, but what she _didn't_ say was she _owed_ Starbuck. She would never forget him, along with Apollo, turning back to give Commander Cain covering fire as he moved to engage Baltar's task force near Gamoray. Or rappelling down the side of a cliff on Alrin to haul her astrum back to safety. Especially, when she had found out later that it was only his third climbing experience, and he had sworn up and down after the first two not to do it again. And then there was that entire episode with the Ship of Lights when Iblis had apparently killed Apollo. Not once did Starbuck blame her when it was certainly warranted . . . at least in her own mind. Instead, he had placed the blame squarely on Count Iblis. Oh, then there was that night on the _Rising Star_ . . . She grinned.

"Actually, that . . . _doesn't_ make me feel better . . ._at__all_." Apollo murmured, letting out a relieved breath and deciding to just thank every Lord of Kobol that she wasn't telling him to go to Hades to Hole right now. "I must be the luckiest guy in the star system to find someone as patient . . . "

"Don't," she stopped him short, watching his face fall. She smothered a giggle at the abrupt change in him. "Sorry, that just sounded like one of Starbuck's lines for a centon. Please tell me he hasn't been coaching you." She winced at the very thought. No one could _do_ Starbuck quite like Starbuck himself. "Apollo, we still need to work some things through, but I know we'll make time for that later. When this is sorted out. Now, tell me what's going on, and how I can help?"

----------

Triad. A full contact sport played between two teams with two men each, though Chameleon had mentioned there was a lesser followed women's league. The points were obtained by throwing the ball through one of the holes on the wall of the court. It looked somewhat like a cross between basketball and rugby. Or rugby and a Viking raid. In other words . . . street rules.

"Would you get a load of those uniforms?" Ryan murmured with a laugh as he watched the IFB equivalent of the Sports Channel. Ever since Starbuck had been vindicated from all question of throwing his games—not that the astronauts were even aware of that scandal—the IFB had been running repeats of several of the best games all day long, most of them featuring the Gold Team. Each and every shot that Starbuck had missed had been tediously slowed down and run in slow motion as the sportscaster pointed out the slight variation in the ball's path. Now the burning question was, when would Starbuck and Apollo play the long awaited game with Barton and Bojay, which had been cancelled because of the pirate asteroid mission.

"Who do you think designed them? Cher? Maybe Madonna?" Dayton chuckled along with him, running his hands through recently shorn hair. Ryan had resisted the trip to the barber, the laser clipper that the man wielded making him nervous.

"Well, definitely a woman. No man in his right mind would stick a soldier in a modified two-piece bikini with a cheap bicycle helmet from Wal-Mart to play sports back home. I hope to God they gave them jock straps. Not a whole lot there to protect a guy." Ryan grinned, digging into the tray of food that Zeibert had delivered to them with his culinary adviser, Porter. It was apparently supposed to resemble an authentic Italian Antipasto platter with meats, cheeses, marinated vegetables and bread on the side. Ryan had scarcely looked at it, he just ate. After thirty years of that horrid root, virtually _anything_ was a delicacy. "Just remind me, if anyone asks us if we want to play triad, to find out if the costume is optional."

"I think I'll pass. At my age, I'm sure I'd put out my back just trying to get into _that_ costume."

"Well, imagine what you'd wreck getting _out_ of it," chuckled Porter, also sporting a new haircut.

"The rest of me, I'd expect." Dayton replied ruefully. He stabbed at something on his plate, eyed it a moment, then shoveled it in, followed by a drink.

_Man, this hooch is good!_

Ryan likewise swallowed down a mouthful of food. "I like _Zed_ though. He seems to be on the ball, so to speak."

"You would. But I'm sure you heard it wrong. It's _Zee_." Dayton corrected him.

"_Zed_." Ryan argued, his smile absolutely radiant. "There is but one correct way to pronounce it, my American friend. After all, we wouldn't want our hosts to think we were a bunch of backward rednecks! Would we?"

"_Zee_ . . ." Dayton laughed at the familiar battle, his arm rising to block the flying hunk of meat heading his way.

Starbuck walked through the door of the _Rising Star_ office at that moment, catching the men enjoying a relaxing moment of friendship, and doing a double take at the short hair. An additional four people were occupied in front of two different computer terminals, Ryan's face lit up at his appearance and he switched gears to Colonial Standard.

"Starbuck, we've been waiting for you all day. They're working us like dogs here." He reached for another piece of something that resembled Genoa salami. It didn't taste like it. In fact, he wasn't sure _what _it tasted like, but what the heck. It was better by a long shot than koivee.

"Hey, _Macchiato_**," **Dayton grinned. "We've been checking out your game. Quite the costumes, kid. Airy, to say the least."

"Mocky-_what_?" Starbuck asked, shaking his head at the Commander as he looked around the office. No answer was forthcoming, so he just shrugged. "How's it going here, anyhow?"

"Good, we're learning a lot." Dayton nodded, shifting modes and making eye contact with the lieutenant. "The cards are what are slowing us down. Graphics, but I always sucked at video poker anyway. We'll tell you all about it if you can get us out of here and back to our new place." He motioned towards the hard working team. "I think we're pretty much ready to call it a day, even if they're not."

"Well, I can take care of the card issue." Starbuck tossed the Earth deck to Dayton. "Compliments of Baker. He's still with Hummer in the Science Lab." He briefly explained how the items had been found amid the debris aboard the _Endeavour. "_He sent some of your personal belongings as well." He held up the container holding the identity cards and handed it to Ryan. Aquila's four designers immediately moved in. It was reminiscent of scavengers attacking carrion the way they descended on Dayton and his deck, and he quickly surrendered the coveted items, turning his attention to the old leather folders.

"Where's Chameleon?" Starbuck asked.

"Right here, Starbuck."

Off to the side, Porter stifled a laugh. _That name!_

Starbuck turned to see the elderly man walking into the office. "I need to have a word with you about the IFB release."

"Well, timing is key in public relations, Star . . . Lieutenant." Chameleon replied.

"Yeah, well, tell that to the Council of Twelve. They weren't too happy with your timing, Chameleon. _Generally_, when they release an announcement, they like to be _aware_ of it ahead of time." Starbuck replied, raising his voice. "Sire Dracus wanted me to tell you . . ."

"Whoa! Ease off the espresso, Starbuck." Dayton approached him, stepping between the two Colonials. "Chameleon is just looking out for our interests. And he's done a bang-up job so far. From where I'm standing, what he did was justified. After all, this place is one helluva lot more comfortable than the _Galactica_."

"The food's better too," Ryan piped up from behind the platter as he started looking through the container of wallets.

"Got that right," said Dayton, looking down at his waistline. "I think I'm back up to 0.01 body fat. I can almost see myself again."

"Look, there's a certain amount of _protocol_ to go through . . ." Starbuck stepped forward until he was head to head with Dayton. "And that includes keeping your _Liaison Officer_ notified of what you're doing . . ."

Dayton could feel himself bristling in reaction to the younger man's subtle aggression. "The only reason there _is_ a Liaison Officer, _Cappuccino Froth, _is so your Commander and the Council can try to maintain some kind of control over us. Not _this_ displaced astronaut. Frankly, Starbuck, I ain't no man's patsy." Dayton spat back at him.

"I'm sure that would be even _more_ impressive if I knew _what the_ _frack_ you just said," Starbuck snapped back, raising his hands with frustration and annoyance. "Look, _I_ take the heat for what goes wrong, and after that party we had with Torg and Bex, I've had just about all I can stand."

"Hey, folks. If you can't take the heat, stay out of the kitchen." Ryan threw at them as he shoved something else in his mouth. They all just stared at him for a moment, Starbuck and Chameleon in confusion, Dayton somewhere between frustration and capitulation, Porter struggling to keep up on the languatron. "Just trying to get in the spirit of things," Ryan said with a shrug. "Tossing in an American quote now and then to keep Dayton on his toes. Harry Truman, wasn't it?"

"What don't we all calm down?" Chameleon suggested after a moment, returning his attention to the others. "I'm sure we don't want another incident like the one on the _Galactica_ . . ." He looked from Starbuck and Dayton over to Aquila's people. "I assume Sire Dracus has discussed when he wants the Council to have their audience with Commander Dayton and his men."

"Don't you have that backwards?" Starbuck asked, his jaw clenched, taking a step back from the Earth Commander.

"Sounds about right to me." Dayton returned with a grin. "Whenever they get around to it."

"Let's go back to the new quarters and go over your agenda, Starbuck. We'll try and work out a time agreeable to both parties at the first opportunity that presents itself," Chameleon added soothingly.

"Fine," Starbuck huffed, and left on the conman's heels.

Dayton turned to Ryan, and, wary of bugs, signed to him and Porter: _That went well._

_ Convincing, I hope, Mark. _Then aloud in English. "Our wallets, Mark. Lord, love a duck! I don't recognize myself." He handed one to Dayton.

"Jeez! Erma Bombeck was right!"

"Huh?"

"When you look like your passport photo, it's time to go home!"

Ryan snorted in amusement as they followed the Colonials. "I hate to tell you, you old fart, but you haven't looked like _that_ for twenty years."

----------

A bounty of food and drink lay before Apollo, Boomer and Reece as they awaited Sire Regus in his considerable chambers aboard the _Malocchio_ Freighter. While the rooms themselves were Spartan, having been designed originally solely for cargo, the size alone attested to the man's station, especially when so many others in the Fleet were crammed into quarters about half the size of this man's turboflush.

Reece fidgeted restlessly as Boomer and Apollo both partook of the sumptuous feast before them. Apparently, they had explained to him, this charade was a part of Empyrean culture and had to be completed before any serious discussion could begin with Sire Regus. Reece watched impatiently, he himself partaking only of a small drink, as the other two dug into the food with relish and discussed, of all things, the captain's love life.

"So, Sheba really just offered to help and accepted your apology?" Boomer asked skeptically.

"Well, she offered to _help_," Apollo agreed. "She's an amazing woman, Boomer. I'm a lucky guy."

"Are you trying to convince _me_, or _yourself_?" Boomer asked, taking a sip of ale. For a moment, his eyes were as big as Base Ships. _ Oh yeah! This is the good stuff!_

"What do you mean by that?" Apollo countered.

Boomer chuckled. "You two have been at each other's throats for about a sectar. For Sagan's sake, if eyeballs were laser turrets . . . The _amazing_ thing is that neither of you is in the Life Station."

"Very funny, Boomer," said Apollo, tossing a gnawed bone at him. "You're getting cynical in your old age. You're starting to sound like Star . . ."

"Gentlemen."

They turned from where they were sitting to see Siress Rea floating into the room, or so it appeared beneath the black mourning gown that flowed to the floor covering her feet as though the mere sight of them would be distasteful. Her bearing was imposing, and she had an expression that reminded one of a thunderstorm building up over a mountain. The men immediately rose to their feet.

"Siress Rea. Our condolences on your son's loss." Apollo bowed slightly as he approached her. "This is Lieutenant Boomer and Security Officer Reece."

"Thank you, Captain." She nodded politely at the others. "I regret to say that Sire Regus has not returned, and cannot see you now."

"When do you expect him back?" Apollo asked.

"I cannot say." She shook her head.

"Do you know where we could find him?" Reece asked. "It is rather important that we speak with him, Siress."

"No."

Apollo cleared his throat, wondering if the woman was withholding information, or simply didn't know. "Perhaps we could ask _you_ a few questions?"

Her eyes opened wide at the very idea. "Me?"

Apollo nodded. "Yes, Siress."

"I . . . I am not certain _I_ would be of much help," she replied, squaring her shoulders.

"Siress . . . do you know the circumstances surrounding your son's death?"

She wet her lips, hesitating for a moment before admitting, "No."

"Do you want to?" Apollo asked, remembering that women in the traditional Empyrean Society, even those in the upper crust families of the social hierarchy, were essentially second class citizens by modern Colonial standards.

She nodded tentatively. "Very much so."

Apollo pulled out a chair and motioned for her to be seated, keeping in mind that this women had fainted at the Empyrean Ball when Sheba had muttered 'holy frack' in her pristine presence. Hesitantly she did so.

He sat down opposite her and, trying to keep in mind that this woman had likely been sheltered from the horrors of real life for her entire lifetime, he told her the circumstances of Rogane's death. The Siress, to her credit, maintained her guise of composure, only allowing it to slip once as she gasped in a breath, her face paling in light of her son's culpability in another's termination.

"Security found a knife with Rogane. An antique, by the looks of it. Do you recognize it?" Apollo asked her, pulling up a holographic of the termination weapon on his datapad.

Siress Rea nodded briefly. "It was a gift from Sire Dracus to my husband. It is one of a pair that we have treasured as a gesture of his friendship since . . . " She covered her lips delicately with a dainty handkerchief, as if she was betraying a trust, her eyes drawn to the wall that the pair of masterpieces usually occupied. _Both_ were conspicuously absent. She wondered briefly what had happened to the second one . . . and where in the heavens her husband had gone.

"Since?" Apollo asked softly. "Please, Siress. Anything that might help shed some light on this. We suspect that your son was framed for this termination. We would appreciate any information that might help clear him of these charges."

"Rogane . . . was sent to the Sagittarian University to further his education. A private school catering to the wealthy, preparing our children to be the future leaders of our Worlds." She sniffed aristocratically. "The boy pestered us relentlessly for two yahrens before we finally ceded to his wishes, believing that giving him a more . . . universal education than the one he would get in our own . . . sectarian culture would be an advantage to him. We were wrong. Within six sectars of his introduction to the university he formed a drug dependency. Filthy, disgusting ..." Her features contorted in pure hatred.

"Elysium?" Reece asked.

The Siress nodded. "Regus took him to a private clinic that specialized not only in the treatment of addictions, but also in client confidentiality. That was where my husband met Sire Dracus. There was a . . . 'parent support group', I believed they called it. Dracus' eldest daughter was also a patient, you see."

"And?"

"After a yahren of therapy, Rogane returned home. The Destruction followed shortly thereafter."

"And your son's drug dependency?"

Siress Rea dropped her gaze. "I admit to being a little naïve of such things—my husband prefers to not worry me about such matters—but I believe that Rogane started using Elysium again _after_ Lady Aurelia made it known that she preferred a common warrior over our son in front of Empyrean nobility and Colonial High Society alike during the Empyrean Ball." She met Apollo's eyes, not even intimating any regret at her choice of words.

"Siress," Reece handed the holoptic of Rogane and Guidobaldo over to her. She took them, her expression one of concentration. "Do you know this man?"

"Not personally." She shook her head as she contemplated the likeness. "I know that my husband has received him on at least two occasions, the last time throwing him bodily from our home."

"His name is Guidobaldo. Does that mean anything to you?" Apollo asked.

"No."

"What about a man called Fausto?" Boomer spoke up. "Has your husband ever mentioned him? Even in passing, Siress?"

Her lips tightened. "My husband does not curse often, but this _Fausto_ has inspired a string of expletives that I have never heard before come from _any_ man's lips." She _sniffed_ again, with her head tilted at just the right angle to communicate her disgust. "In fact, there is only one other man that he despises as much."

Apollo winced, knowing the answer before he uttered the question. "Who?"

"Your Lieutenant Starbuck."

"I . . . see."

----------

Memories of another time, another place. When the future seemed to hold so much promise. So much hope. His son's life was ahead of him. His path towards greatness was clear.

All gone.

"Come in, my old friend."

Dracus' voice seemed to come from the very walls, as Regus stood, clothed in a dark formal robe, in the Councilman's antechamber surrounded by the long swords that were so synonymous with the other man. He turned slowly, suddenly feeling every yahren of his age, raising his hand reflexively as Dracus reached out to him.

"I am so very sorry for your loss, Regus. I've prayed for Rogane's soul, that our Lord will see in his infinite wisdom that he was not responsible for his actions, and will hasten his trip to Paradise." Dracus gripped the other man's hand briefly.

"Then you _have _heard . . ." Regus murmured, his voice soft. He rubbed his chest for a moment, hoping to ease the pressure that was growing within once again The pain came far too often of late. _ The ravages of old age, Regus. You need to rest._

"Yes," Dracus replied. "The Council is of course notified when men of distinction, such as your son . . . " He sighed deeply as he led the other deeper into his chambers. "It's a terrible tragedy. Numbing. I grieve with you, both as a father _and_ a friend."

"I don't understand . . ." Regus mumbled, raising weary eyes to the other. "I thought we were past it." He had truly believed that Rogane had left his addiction behind. He was clean.

Dracus poured them both a drink, handing the _extremely _vintage ambrosa to his peer. "You must admit, Rogane had been under a great deal of stress," Dracus reminded the other. "Ever since the Empyrean Ball . . ."

"That _blasted_ Ball," Regus cursed. "I begin to believe it was _I_ who was cursed!"

"The Lords have indeed been kind to Lieutenant Starbuck." Dracus mused. "Indeed, they seem to favour him. Who can say why?"

Regus took a drink of ambrosa, enjoying the warmth that pervaded his tortured spirit. "He's the bane of my existence," he spat. "Him and Fausto."

"I've _told_ you how to handle Fausto," Dracus replied. "It really is quite simple actually."

"I have a family. My surviving daughter and son. My wife." Regus growled. "I have to protect them. I do not have the luxury of only defending _myself_, as do you."

"Everything you do to help Fausto only digs you into a deeper hole," Dracus told him. "Something I would think you were well aware of. Report him to Security."

"And have him destroy my good name? My standing in society? Or what remains of it." Regus took another drink cursing the day he put his trust in the 'confidentiality' of that private clinic that had obviously turned over a list of their affluent and wealthy clients to Fausto. "I cannot." He sat heavily in a chair thinking of the many things that Fausto had asked of him, and of the many that he had refused. Including the termination of the electronics shopkeeper. All but one. "All I _really_ did was find Myrddin for him. I knew that the parlour trickster was working on something to make balls hover—pretending in front of the common folks' children it was truly magic." He snorted derisively. "In return Fausto agreed to specifically target Starbuck in the triad scam in order to discredit him before my people. To curtail this obsession some of them have with the Lieutenant. _Savior_ indeed!" he spat. Now he realized that his refusal to terminate Myrddin, had culminated in a clear message from Fausto . . . in the form of his dead son. "I cannot taunt Fausto openly as you do, Dracus. I could not believe you would dare to call for an end to all open sports betting the way you did, rebelling so openly. Virtually attacking him in public."

"I had to, old friend." Dracus replied, topping up the other's drink. "I cannot let Fausto think he holds any power over me. I _refuse_ to succumb to his filthy demands. He cannot exploit the dead. And he knows it."

Regus nodded somberly, knowing that Dracus was the last of his clan after the Destruction. Like so many others, his entire family were lost. It put the other man in a position where only _he_ was at risk.

Dracus placed a hand on the other's shoulder. "Lieutenant Starbuck was here a short time ago." Regus' head snapped up, eyes wide. "You should know that he intends to take his rightful place as Emperor when he seals with Princess Luana."

"NO!" Regus snarled, his head jerking upright. "I will not see it done, Dracus! That . . boy, that parentless guttersnipe . . . will _blaspheme_ and _debase_ all that the Empyrean nobility hold dear, ending thousands of yahrens of tradition!" He wiped the spittle from his chin.

"Perhaps it is a message from the Lords, my friend," Dracus soothed him. "Perhaps change is inevitable. For all our good intent and hard work, it is perhaps the one thing that we _cannot_ prevent."

"Perhaps," Regus replied evenly, setting down his empty goblet. "We shall see . . ."

----------

Starbuck blathered on about Council appointments, and IFB interviews, all the time using the handheld analyzer that would detect any transceivers planted in the Earthmen's quarters on the _Rising Star_. Chameleon made comments as he felt appropriate, while he followed his son around the rooms.

"We're clear," Starbuck told them, after completing two full sweeps of the room. "No. . . uh, what did you call 'em? Bugs?" Dayton nodded. "Well, the place is clean."

"Well, then, I guess no one suspects _why_ we're here. At least for now. Can we hold onto that?" Dayton asked, nodding in appreciation as the warrior handed it over. "Oh, by the way . . . I have something for you, Starbuck." Dayton fished inside one of the leather folders recovered from the _Endeavour_. He retrieved a card of some sort, and after a quick glance, and a chuckle, handed it to the Viper pilot.

Starbuck reached out to take the heavy paper card, the print faded but still fairly legible, with small pieces apparently cut or punched out in four different areas. "Just . . . uh, what I've always wanted." He grinned. " What is it?"

"A Starbucks Coffee Card." Dayton replied with a wink at his fellow astronauts. "Another six punches will get you a free coffee."

"_Starbucks_?" said the card's namesake. "You mean this . . . " he pointed to the word on the card, "is the same as my name?"

"You got it, _House Blend_!" said Dayton, trying to keep a straight face . . . and failing.

"It was a company that made something similar to your java," Ryan clarified. "Dozens of varieties. Damn popular, especially out west. I recommend the French Roast."

"You would," teased Dayton.

"Ahhhhh . . ." Starbuck nodded, turning it over in his hand. All of Dayton's pet names that meant nothing to him, but had the others breaking into peels of laughter. Obviously something to do with this company. _Starbucks_.

"I also managed to get into Fausto's office." Dayton told him, watching the young man's features shift from bemusement to full concentration. "I overheard an interesting conversation beforehand." He relayed the particulars to them all.

"_'Quorum member'_. Quorum of Twelve?" Chameleon asked. "Has to be."

"And 'whelp's condition'. I wonder _whose_ whelp?" Starbuck mused, unaware of Rogane's death. "Suspicious, but kind of vague. Unfortunately."

"I know." Dayton agreed. "But, I made it into his office and I found out that his door responds to some kind of swipe code _on_ his identification card. I saw him access it twice after I had left."

"Good job. Where does he keep that?" Starbuck asked. "Or did you get to see that?"

"Inside his overcoat. Right breast pocket." Dayton replied with a grin. "The way he reached for it, almost automatically, makes me think it's always there."

"Should be an easy lift," Chameleon smiled, waving his fingers in the air.

"Ah," said Dayton, looking at Chameleon. "You're a master of the old five-fingered discount, eh?"

Chameleon polished his nails on his shirt, and took a small bow.

"You're not going near him, Chameleon." Starbuck shook his head. "When all of this clears, if it does, I don't want _any_ of you implicated in this."

"Then who are you going to get to do the lift?" Chameleon asked, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Remember, Fausto knows most of the usual suspects that could pull this off. And what would any of _them_ be doing at a fancy soiree for the _Journey to Earth_ opening with Council Members and the rest of the elite?"

"_I'll_ do it," Starbuck replied.

"Starbuck, the art of lifting something undetected takes yahrens of practice. Trust me on this point. And a naturally light touch."

"I'm a Viper pilot! Believe me, I _have_ a light touch." Starbuck replied with a grin. "Just ask Cas . . . uh. . . never mind. Besides . . ." he reached into his flight jacket and pulled out Chameleon's identification card, handing it back to the conman. "If I can lift it from _you_ undetected, I can lift it from _Fausto_." Then there were the flawless lifts he had done on Commander Adama and Apollo. Yeah, it was just like riding a hovercycle.

Chameleon's jaw dropped. "How did you . . .? When . . .?" Starbuck evidently had fingers like his old man, or at least like Chameleon did in the early days . . . But . . .

"Nice job, Fingers." Ryan patted him on the back.

"What did you do before you became a fighter pilot anyhow?" Dayton asked with a grin. "Time?"

Starbuck shrugged, smiling despite the ribbing. "Something like that."

"Really, Starbuck." Chameleon encouraged him to elaborate. Here he had thought his son had gone from an orphanage to the Academy. Or perhaps that was just what he had _wanted_ to think. A nice, safe, stable environment. It had gone a long way to lessen his own guilt for just accepting that his son was dead all those yahrens from a direct hit on their humble farm house. _Why didn't you tear every orphanage on Caprica apart looking for him? A real father would have. A real man._ "Where did you learn to pick pockets?"

Starbuck shrugged. "I spent a bit of time on the streets."

"Where?" Chameleon pressed him.

"Caprica City." The dismay on the older man's features completely threw him. "_What?_"

"I guess there's still a lot that I don't know about you," Chameleon muttered, realizing that unless he told his son the truth about their relationship, then that situation was unlikely to change. _You'd better make up your mind, Cham. None of you has forever._

"Endless talents all wrapped up in one package," Starbuck grinned, summing himself up in a phrase.

Ryan draped an arm around his shoulders, planting a loud smooch on his cheek. "Oh, I think he's just adorable." He batted his eyelids dramatically. "Raaaaa-ly, I do!"

Starbuck pushed him away, shaking his head as Porter and Dayton broke into laughter. "Get off me." He wiped his cheek, rolling his eyes at the Earthman. "When is Dickins getting discharged from the Life Station?"

"Tomorrow," Dayton answered, repeating the phrase for Porter's benefit in their own tongue. Porter nodded in agreement.

"And the target day for the _Journey to Earth_?"

"Well, they were going to try and put it together within a secton," Chameleon told him, "but now that they already have those playing cards to simply modify, that might move it ahead a couple days."

"Well, the last word from Hummer and Baker was that some of your data discs were salvageable, and they even had your vid player working at one point last night. I hear Commander Adama was up half the night with Hummer watching everything he could." Starbuck relayed. "Once Komma perfects his program, we'll be set to go."

"There is something else we're going to need for this shindig," Ryan mentioned.

Starbuck's brows furrowed, shaking his head. He glanced at Chameleon's languatron. _Lower leg bone burial. _ Ryan tried again. "What's that?" Starbuck asked, making a mental note to maim Wilker at his earliest opportunity.

"Dates." Ryan grinned, waggling his eyebrows.

Starbuck shook his head solemnly. "Sorry, Ryan, I already _have_ a date."

"Ahh, _Starbuck_!" Ryan whined in apparent disappointment.

Dayton slapped him on the back. "Nice one, kid. Don't worry, we'll take care of ourselves."

"Oh? Do you have someone in mind?" Starbuck asked him.

"Might just have." Dayton replied, thinking about fluid blue eyes, gently curling blonde hair, swelling . . .

"You don't waste anytime," Starbuck grinned.

"I might not have much of it left." Dayton replied with a nod, thinking of another blonde-haired beauty who still held his heart. And always would. _Yvonne_. "I have to make the most of it."

"Fair enough. Well, I'll be back tomorrow to drag you all off in chains to see the Council of Twelve." Starbuck told them. "We're right on track for now."

"Yes, it's gone surprisingly smoothly." Chameleon mentioned, walking with his son to the door. "When this is all over, let's sit down and compare stories on how we learned to pick pockets."

"Sounds interesting." Starbuck grinned. "If there's a bottle of ambrosa involved, then I'm in."

"Done," Chameleon smiled. A bottle of ambrosa and just the two of them. Perhaps that would be the time to tell his son . . . "Until tomorrow then."

"Right."

"Oh, Starbuck?" said the conman.

"Yeah?" said Starbuck, half-turning to look at him.

"Here. You might need this," he smiled, handing his son back his ID pad.

----------

Starbuck turned the corner, amazed at how every time he was on the _Rising Star_, in contrast to just about every other passenger carrier in the Fleet, the corridors always seemed empty. No kids running up and down burning off the energy of youth. No, the children of the elite were otherwise occupied doing . . . whatever it is wealthy kids did.

His step faltered as he saw a man dressed in a dark cloak slumped against the wall, his downward slide ending as his astrum hit the deck. The man's left hand clutched at his chest and he let out a groan. Starbuck broke into a jog, closing the distance between them in microns.

"Hey, are you okay?" Starbuck knelt down on one knee before the man, grabbing his shoulder.

"Help . . . me . . ." the man grunted, clenching the warrior's flight jacket in his left hand like a lifeline as he gazed at him in desperation. Sweat ran off his brow.

"Sire Regus . . ." Starbuck stuttered, staring at the Empyrean Nobleman in surprise for a moment before his training kicked in. If it wasn't a heart attack, it was pretty damn close. "I'll get help."

"No . . ." Recognition flickered in eyes full of suffering and his grip on the warrior tightened. "Dracus was right . . ." A faint smile. " A message from . . . the Lords . . ." Regus murmured quietly, his right hand reaching beneath his cloak.

"What?" Starbuck asked, leaning closer, barely hearing the other. He twisted his head, looking down the corridor for the closest comm unit to call for a med tech. If he didn't get help soon . . .

An abrupt breath expelled in a tortuous gasp. Starbuck's mouth opened, his breath caught in his throat, as he tried to suck in precious air. His fingers dug into Regus' robes from where they had rested on the man's shoulder. The pain followed a micron later, slowly building from a burn to a searing torment as he looked down between them in morbid fascination. In paralytic shock.

The knife was still inside him, Regus' hand still clenching it, his knuckles white. Blood oozed from the jagged hole in his tunic, spreading its stain across his uniform. It was surreal. As though time had slowed down to force him to endure every milli-centon of the experience. Starbuck slumped against the wall, his supporting leg giving out beneath him. Regus stayed with him, his grip relentless as he twisted his body to face the warrior. Then the Empyrean pulled back slightly, changing his grip to press against the lieutenant's chest. Starbuck's head lifted and met the older man's eyes. As if that was what he was waiting for, Regus gazed at him balefully, and jerked the blade back out again, twisting it sharply, tearing at flesh anew. An animalistic cry of pain ripped from the warrior's throat.

Regus let the knife drop to the deck and using both hands, gripped the other's flight jacket with a talon-like hold, watching . . . savouring . . . every glimpse of the other's pain, confusion, and suffering. "For my _son_," Regus rasped at Starbuck, his own pain overcoming him for the moment, and he loosened his grip on his gasping victim, allowing him to slump over backwards to the deck. "Interloper! Desecrater of Sacred Tradition! Die, you fool!" As his back hit the deck, Starbuck's stomach screamed in protest as his extended position pulled at mutilated flesh. He rolled to his side, his hands uselessly cradling the wound, his back to Regus.

Regus took a deep breath, steadying himself, the crushing pressure in his chest once again receding enough to function. He picked up the ancient knife, eying the warrior for a moment. It would only take a few microns to slash his throat, ensuring his demise. It would leave him with no doubt that the cocky young man who had so naively thought that he would be permitted to claim the Empyrean throne would be dead. He was only a metron away. _So easy_.

If was as if Starbuck had read his mind.

Fighting his way through the blinding haze of pain, Starbuck reached for his weapon. His bloody hand gripped the blaster, and he drew it, leveling it at the other as he shifted slightly onto his back. His hand shook with the pain, but he clenched his teeth, fighting against the wave of darkness that threatened to envelop him. Regus stopped his advance, knife in hand.

Starbuck hesitated for an instant, and then pulled the trigger, changing his aim at the last micron, watching an enormous chunk of the wall beside Regus explode. Fragments of plaster and dust showered down on them. The man jumped, yelping in fear, and then blinked in surprise that he was still alive.

"Bastard!" Regus snarled, realizing the other had fired to get help. The answering echo of pounding footsteps drawing closer made up his mind. Once again, he propped himself up against the wall. He mentally prepared himself for the ancient ritual, regretting he had no 'second' with an accompanying long sword to sever his head from his shoulders. Regus rested the point of the knife against his stomach. Adjusting his grip, he wrapped both hands around the hilt.

Starbuck watched silently in horror as Regus plunged the blade into his own flesh, rending the flesh from left to right. Not a sound passed the Empyrean's grimacing lips, save a slight gasp. Then, after sucking in a further breath, he made one more cut vertically, completing a rough 'cross' shape. Blood and bile poured from the wound and the man slumped forward, his hands still tightly clenching the blade's hilt. Starbuck had heard tell of ancient warriors who had practiced the tradition to prevent themselves falling into the hands of the enemy, or to attenuate shame. _But_ . . . _Lords . . ._

The pain was tortuous . . . exquisite. Regus looked up for a moment, despite his own obvious agony, seeking the other's gaze. He smiled at the revulsion on the warrior's face . . . the lack of understanding . . . the fear. Only in this way could Regus end his life with his transgressions entirely erased by his bravery; with his reputation not merely intact, but actually enhanced. His shame was attenuated, his honour, and that of his family, restored. As his life's blood soaked his robes, he felt the descending darkness and knew that Paradise lay just beyond it. He stretched out his arms, surrendering himself body and soul, never doubting for a moment that eternal salvation awaited him.


	77. Chapter 77

Ryan waited but a minute after Starbuck left their luxurious quarters on the _Rising Star_, before approaching Dayton apart from the others. He gripped his friend's arm. "So, Fabio, who are you planning to ask to the soiree anyhow?"

Dayton grinned, "I bet you'd like to know." He knew the other considered him competition for the affections of Lieutenant Dietra.

"I'm serious." And for a change, he looked it.

Dayton turned his head slightly to the side, curious as to what would follow. "The med tech, Cassiopeia. If, of course, she wants to be seen with someone nearly old enough to be her grandfather. Why?"

"Ahh! I thought so." Ryan draped a fatherly arm around the other's shoulders, guiding him to the door. "You see, Grandpa, Starbuck and Cassiopeia just recently split up, so I think it would be a . . . considerate thought if you asked our fair-haired, shining star . . . _buck_, if he would mind you forcing your affections on his not-so-recent love interest. After all the kid's done for us," he looked around the garish suite with a grin. "Really, we're going to be taken care of fairly well here. I'm sure some of it he thought he owed us for helping him get off that asteroid, but truthfully, we both know that his people would have freed him anyway, with or without our help."

The door slid open as Ryan blathered, and Dayton turned his head sharply, looking down the corridor. "Did you hear that?"

"What?" Ryan asked, shaking his head in the negative.

Dayton paused, cocking his head, listening intently. "I thought I heard something. A yell."

"That was your own guilt screaming at you to pay attention to me," Ryan deadpanned. "Seriously, Mark, I think it would go a long way to mending your relationship with the kid. Just show him a little regard instead of 'grinding his beans' all the time. After all, he is very well connected around here, and if he gets _too_ pissed, he just might . . ."

"Shh!" Every sense was attuned to his environment, his Air Force Special Operations Command training kicking in. The drone of the ships engines, the slight sound of Chameleon and Porter moving around within the suite through the open door, and the soft sound of Ryan's breathing beside him.

"What is it?" Ryan whispered, seeing that familiar intensity in his Commander from the earlier days on the pirate asteroid when they had to be ready for anything—not knowing where, or from whom, the next assault would come from. He looked up and down the corridor, seeing nothing and hearing less. Excruciatingly long seconds passed quietly. Dayton's body was tense, his knees slightly bent, as if he could spring into action at any moment in any direction. Unconsciously, he had even begun to reach for the weapon that he had not worn in decades. "Mark?"

"Not sure," Dayton muttered, but he had a feeling . . . "Something's not . . ."

Then the abrupt sound of laser fire cut through the silence.

"Come on!" Dayton hollered, loudly enough for the two men in the suite to be alerted, as he tore down the corridor like a man a third his age, with Ryan on his heels. In less than a minute they could see Starbuck at a distance stretched out horizontally on the deck, supporting himself on one wobbly elbow, his blaster dropping from his hand as he collapsed. A couple of feet away, another man leaning against the wall, hunched over, wheezing like a torn bellows.

"Bloody hell . . ." Dayton gasped, quickening his pace, his lungs protesting the sudden need to sprint distances after lumbering around in a tunnel, harvesting koivee for thirty years. He could see the swath of blood on the warrior's tunic as he reached him. He dropped down beside the younger man, quickly checking for a pulse, as Ryan raced past to the second man.

"Jaysus!" Ryan rasped, dropping down next to Regus. "He's still got the friggin' knife in him!" He shook his head as he realized the man had done this himself, his hands still rapped around the hilt as blood and other putrid fluids poured out of the gaping wound. "You alive?" he asked rhetorically. Or so he thought. "What is this, some kind of goddamned hara-kiri thing?"

To his infinite surprise, the man raised his chin a fraction, hoarsely replying, "Behold. . . the Emperor. . ." He coughed, blood spewing from clenched teeth, his face the hideous mask of a smiling maniac as he gloated in Starbuck's direction. Then he dropped limply forward. Ryan checked for a pulse. He was gone.

"Ryan, call a medic!" Dayton roared. Starbuck's pulse was weak and thready, his heart pumping like staccato gunfire beneath his fingers, but at least it was _there_. Glazed eyes opened to stare blankly at the ceiling, as he gasped in pain, starting to hyperventilate. The kid seemed to be slipping into shock.

Ryan climbed to his feet again, looking around for the intercom. _What do they look like . . ._"I'm too freakin' old for this shit!" he spat, as he raced towards the nearest comm unit, hoping he could figure out how to use it.

"Starbuck!" Chameleon dropped down beside his son, his heart in his throat, looking to Dayton. "Is he going to be . . .?" his voice broke, as he abruptly realized he might be too late to tell his boy the truth. "Lord . . ." he clenched Starbuck's bloody hand tightly in his own, holding it against his chest. Curious onlookers began to appear in the corridor, peeking through half shut doorways, then pulling them closed again when the saw the horror beyond.

"SOMEONE CALL A DOCTOR!" Ryan shouted at the retreating faces.

"I don't know, Chameleon," Dayton replied honestly, pulling off his jacket and rolling it into a thick pad. "We need to slow the bleeding down." He placed it on Starbuck's abdomen and leaned on it, grimacing at the answering moan of pain, as the younger man reflexively tried to push at hands that wouldn't budge, pulling free from his father's grip. Porter moved into position, gripping the warrior's lower legs and draping them over his shoulder, keeping them elevated.

Meanwhile, Ryan banged at the comm unit, the various markings on the switches meaning nothing to him. "Hello! Hello!" he yelled desperate to make contact with somebody. _Anybody._

"Aphrodite's Esthetics." The thick, nasal voice replied. "Don't like your bod? We can play God. How can I help . . .?"

"I need the Life Station!"

"Sorry, you have the wrong comm link." The voice replied briskly, sounding as though she was signing off.

"Help me! A man's dying!" Ryan howled.

"Then you should call the Life Station."

"But I don't know the num . . ." The line went dead.

"Chameleon! I need your help!" Ryan shouted to the conman, banging a fist on the unit in frustration.

Chameleon shook his head. "I'm not leaving him again!" He glanced up at Dayton, tears in his old eyes. "I can't . . . leave him. Not like this. Not again! Not again!" He pushed Starbuck's hair back from his clammy forehead, his heart breaking at the effort it was costing his son just to keep breathing. "Please, Starbuck . . ."

"Chameleon," Dayton barked at him. "He needs medical attention. He could die if we don't get it!"

"You don't understand," Chameleon hesitated, his chest tight with emotion. "He's . . . my _son_. I already let him down once." He grimaced. "Twice. Not again! I . . ."

The old man was right; he _didn't_ understand. But Dayton was willing to wing it. He took a deep breath, slipping back into his old 'kick-their-asses-till-they-can't-shit superior officer mode' "Then act like a _father_, and get him the help he needs!" he snapped. "Now!"

Chameleon hesitated a further micron, looking between his son's face, twisted in agony, and the comm unit further down the hall. Ryan was furiously punching buttons and hitting switches. He looked more likely to destroy the unit, then get it functioning. "Hold on, son," Chameleon murmured, taking a milli-centon to place a kiss on Starbuck's forehead, before climbing to his feet and running to join Ryan.

----------

"How is he?" Apollo asked without preamble as he rushed into the _Galactica_'s Life Station, Boomer right behind him. Dayton and Ryan were pacing restlessly in the waiting room, Chameleon sat, staring vacantly at the deck. All the captain knew was that Starbuck had been stabbed on the _Rising Star_ and was in critical condition.

"Still in surgery." Dayton replied. "It took them a while to get him stabilized enough on the _Rising Star_ to transfer him over here for the operation."

It had literally taken centons once Chameleon had alerted the Life Station for an emergency med team to arrive and begin life sustaining procedures that had probably saved Starbuck's life. By then, the lieutenant was unconscious, which was almost a blessing considering how he had been suffering before then—and all of them with him.

Colonial Security had then met with the men in the _Rising Star_'s Life Station, taking down all the relevant information—most of it vague or assumptive—as the Health Team treated the warrior. Chameleon had writhed his hands in guilt and fear, visibly close to collapse, as he awaited any word on Starbuck's condition. It was with an all too audible sigh of relief by the attending physician that they were informed that the patient was stable enough to transport to the Trauma Center on the _Galactica_. It left them all with the impression that the smaller Life Station was more accustomed to dealing with constipation and viruses.

"Does Luana know?" Apollo asked. "Did anyone call her?"

"Yes," Chameleon replied quietly. "I . . . called her, Captain. From the shuttle on the way over here." He had taken care of it personally, had felt it was his responsibility, and it had been a little awkward since he had never had the dubious pleasure of meeting the young woman whom Starbuck had become abruptly betrothed to after breaking off his relationship with the lovely Cassiopeia. "She's . . . she's waiting in the main ward to hear."

"Hear what?" Ama asked, entering the room like a force of nature. She seemed to fill the remaining space, as a wind fills a canyon, and she whirled around the room, looking at everyone, most familiar, one not, and demanded. "How is he?"

"We don't know yet," Apollo replied. "He's still in surgery."

"What happened?" Boomer asked. "We just heard that they were both injured and that Sire Regus died of his wounds."

"All I can tell you, is that they both had stab wounds, and the knife wasn't Starbuck's," Dayton replied, recalling seeing the ornate hilt still sticking out of the bureautician.

"Starbuck doesn't normally carry a knife . . . " Chameleon stated, then paused, asking, "does he?" He looked at the other warriors questioningly.

"Actually, yes, he does." Boomer nodded. "He started carrying one in his boot, like Luana and Lia do, shortly before the Alrin mission. It came about from an expanded self-defense course that Starbuck started for the new class of warrior cadets, and Luana assumed as a leadership project later."

"It was a tradition on our planet. As a tool and a weapon, a knife is very handy, as you can imagine." Ama added, curiously eying Chameleon. She moved closer to the old man who seemed so very distraught, gazing distractedly around the room, lost in his own thoughts.

Ryan nodded. "Yeah, it was Starbuck's knife that we used to cut that Obediator out of him on the asteroid base. It definitely came in handy. But all the same, _he_ didn't stab himself in the gut, and that ornate thing that was sticking out of Sire Regus wouldn't fit in a boot."

"Sounds like the one they found on Rogane's body." Apollo mused. "Which would make sense if Rogane stole it from his father. But how in Hades Hole does an middle-aged bureautician with a knife get the advantage over a trained warrior with a laser?" The captain shook his head trying to imagine Starbuck dropping his guard on Sire Regus, knowing how much the bureautician despised him . . . Still, no one would have ever laid odds on Regus trying to _kill_ the lieutenant. What would motivate him? Especially since Starbuck had nothing to do with Rogane's death.

"Element of surprise?" Dayton suggested. "Starbuck had his blaster in his hand when we got there, and there was a big hole in the wall next to Regus. Obviously, he pulled it _after_ he'd been attacked."

"Sire Regus said something just before he died," Ryan began, feeling all eyes on him. He shrugged apologetically, "I actually forgot all about it until now. Trying to figure out that damned intercom threw me off. Something about the . . . Emperor." He concentrated, trying to envision Regus' horrific rictus just before he collapsed. "'_Behold, the Emperor._'" Ryan shook off the bone chilling memory as he looked at Apollo. "I'm sure he was looking right at Starbuck. Like it was some kind of message."

"That doesn't make sense. Starbuck never had any intention of becoming Emperor." Boomer's facial expression suggested it was the furthest thing from anyone's mind. "Everyone in barracks knew that. He didn't even believe in the role of the monarchy, and thought it was outdated and purely figurative."

"Huh?" Dayton asked, totally lost. "Emperor? Emperor of what?"

"Starbuck's betrothed is second in line for the Empyrean throne. Lia, her older sister, has formally abdicated her place in the scheme of succession." Apollo explained.

"At this point it might be worth mentioning that so did Luana," Ama added. "But according to tradition, any children that Lia _or_ Luana might have are _still_ potential successors to the throne, and his or her parents could be required to act as Regents in such an event."

Apollo looked at the necromancer in surprise. "Does Starbuck know that?"

"I very much doubt it." Ama grinned. "Luana tends to think of things in black and white. Sound like anyone else you know?" She smiled at Starbuck's friends, who nodded in agreement. "Luana feels that since both she and Lia abdicated, that that's the end of the Imperial Line, and the Monarchy itself. End of story. In reality though, unless the newly elected Empyrean Quorum officially ends the Monarchy's rule of the Empyreans, then someone _could_ be appointed to act as Regent until the rightful heir reaches the age of majority."

"Sounds convoluted." Dayton told her. "So you're suggesting that not only did Regus not want Starbuck as Regent, but he also didn't want any heir of his to occupy the throne?"

"I suspected that Regus was trying to discredit Starbuck in front of our people. He couldn't bear the fact that we confirmed him as our Savior through the Prophesy. That was why I initially contacted Oriana to research that triad ruse." She watched Apollo's eyebrows arch up into his hairline in surprise. Of course, none of them had known she had initiated Oriana's investigation. Except possibly Luana, and the poor girl had apparently forgotten everything she had learned from the journalist . . . at least for now. "The boy is the best triad player in the Fleet," her gapping smile flashed with the tiniest trace of satisfaction as she saw Apollo and Boomer bristle at her words. She winked at them. "Humour me lads, he's like a son to me. I realized that, since he was manifestly neither injured nor ill, there was no way on Empyrean that he was really playing _that_ badly. There _had_ to be trickery at work." Besides that, she had thrice hesitated to bet on him, not understanding her reluctance at the time, and had then shaken it off and barreled ahead laying her bet anyway. So there was a certain amount of pride involved here. What kind of necromancer couldn't even predict the outcome of a silly game? If the Archimage Society heard about it, she'd never live it down. "All the same, I still find it difficult to believe that Sire Regus would be driven to kill him. And by his own hand, as well. He would have to be at the end of his rope for that to happen. He's a . . . was, I should say, a shrewd bureautician. There are certainly other routes open to destroying a man without taking his life."

"I don't know," Ryan disputed. "I really got the idea that Regus thought Starbuck intended to become your Emperor. You should have seen the look in his eyes. That man was running on pure hatred."

"Hell's Bells, this all sounds like a really bad _Dynasty_ episode," said Dayton to Ryan, shaking his head. "Good God, I . . ."

"By the Lillium Moons!" Chameleon interjected in frustration, rising to his feet. He was having difficulty following so much that he was unfamiliar with in his agitated state. And it hit home even more how out of touch he was with his own son. "None of this even matters if Starbuck dies!"

All heads turned towards him, surprised by the unexpected outburst. Ama touched him lightly on the arm.

"I feel as though I should know you, Sir, but I'm just as certain that we've never met." Her voice was soothing, almost like a balm, as if she was speaking to a child.

"You don't know Starbuck's . . .?" Dayton started in astonishment, but was cut off with a quick look from the conman as Chameleon took Ama's hand, and offered her a small smile and a bow.

"Chameleon." The charm that was usually turned on at will sounded forced, even to his own ears.

"Oh." Ama nodded slowly, turning his hand over in hers and tracing his palm. "I believe that Starbuck has . . . mentioned you to me, Sir. But I didn't realize . . ." She retained his hand, pressing it gently between her thumb and index finger, but looked deeply into the other's eyes, seeing the pain and regret that was there. "I'm Ama. I've adopted your . . . young friend, unofficially. He's as kin to me, and so I share your pain, Chameleon. And I apologize for speaking so tediously while we wait to hear about Starbuck's condition."

Something about the woman's presence was strangely comforting, and Chameleon found himself unquestionably following her as she led him back to his chair, and then sat beside him. She continued to hold his hand, in almost a motherly fashion, which was odd since they were about the same age, he imagined.

"He has a strong spirit and an indomitable will, our boy. No doubt inherited from his ancestors. I'm sure Starbuck will be just fine." Ama reassured him, sensing something so familiar in the other's aura that she had to live in it a while longer just to be certain . . . "Besides, I understand he's attending the 'Party of the Yahren' next secton, and we all know how he hates to miss a good party."

"You've got that right," Boomer agreed with a smile, trying to dispel the mood. He barely caught himself before saying _Starbuck wouldn't miss his own wake._

_ Hades Hole, you're starting to sound like him, Boom-Boom._

"I'm . . . sorry," Chameleon looked at the others, having trouble meeting anybody's eyes. "I just . . . hate . . . not knowing."

More often than not, life just had a way of dealing Chameleon an iffy hand. As a young man, he had quickly figured out that it was wise to carry a capstone up his sleeve to hedge his bets. Both sleeves, actually. You could never have too many capstones. Some people were born advantaged, but Chameleon came to learn that he could carefully manipulate his own luck, relying on a quick wit, resourcefulness, and intestinal fortitude to set up a scam and carry it out to its end. Whether that be something as minor as his next free meal, or as elaborate as a multi-thousand cubit sting, the excitement was more or less the same. And he had learned from the best. His own father was the consummate free spirit, intent on living life to the fullest, seeing every place his heart desired, and exerting as little energy as possible in the process as he shared his philosophies, his adventures, and his passions with his son. At least until his early tragic death, the circumstances suspicious, but never investigated considering the victim's _reputation_. Chameleon was then temporarily placed under the 'wing' of an uncle, until the young man realized he would rather strike out on his own then be dictated to by a staid, uptight, righteous man whose idea of a good time was making it to Holy Worship more than just once per secton.

At one time, the careful set up, the on-the-spot decisions, and the ultimate payoff gave Chameleon a thrill unlike anything he had ever known, save those all too brief yahrens when a beautiful young woman named Gabrielle had won his heart and given his life a new and more fulfilling meaning. In the blink of an eye, it was all destroyed, lost in the fiery destruction of a Cylon raid. And now that Starbuck's life hung in the balance, capstones, cons and his entire way of life, the good and the bad, seemed so empty and meaningless. He was just a lonely old man who had never amounted to anything. He realized that his single most valuable contribution to society, probably his _only _contribution, was his son. Despite his gene pool, Starbuck had turned into a man who selflessly risked life and limb, though he would be the first to deny it, to protect and defend his people against any threat.

_His mother's blood. Has to be._

At that moment, Dr. Salik walked into the small room, looking utterly exhausted, and slowly nodded at those waiting. As usual, the Chief Medical Officer wasted little time getting to the point. "Lieutenant Starbuck's in stable condition." He smiled at the immediate release of tension, as the small group clasped hands and grinned at one another in relief. "He's still sedated from the surgery and the med techs are just cleaning him up, but I can allow two people to see him for a short visit." He held up two fingers.

"Only two?" Ama asked, surveying the others as to point out the obvious to the physician.

"Correct, and I suspect that Ensign Luana should be one of them, since she _is_ his betrothed." Salik replied.

Boomer looked at the captain. "You go, Apollo. I'll let everyone back in barracks know." He headed towards the hatch.

"Thanks, Boomer."

Ama cleared her throat loudly. "Perhaps Chameleon should go."

"Chameleon?" Apollo asked.

The old conman held up his hands. "No, no. Captain Apollo should go. I'll see Starbuck later . . . when he's more awake." He nodded, as if trying to convince himself as well that this was the best idea. "But do send him my best."

"But . . ." Dayton murmured, looking from Chameleon, back to Ama, then over to Apollo. He shook his head in confusion as he silently considered the conman. _Send him your best? Don't you want to see with your own eyes that your son's alive? I don't get it._

"Really." Chameleon smiled. "I'm just . . . relieved to know he's okay." And so said, he left the room. The rest looked at each other in surprise or confusion. All but Ama. With a barely perceptible smile, she slipped out of the room herself. As she moved down the corridor, she paused just short of the junction. She stopped, listening.

To the sound of weeping.

----------

It was warm and . . . ticklish. And almost _annoyingly_ impersonal and efficient. Starbuck was somewhere between consciousness and that place just beyond it where you could force your eyes to open and engage the world, or just continue to . . . drift.

Drifting was nice.

"I just want to get him cleaned up . . . for the others."

His eyelids flickered at the familiar tone, as he felt the warm washcloth travel down his body and back up again repeatedly, the cool air leaving raised flesh behind. The pervading smells of soap and disinfectant assailed his senses as a crisp towel dried him gently. He could feel his body draped modestly with another towel as the sponge bath continued, this time on both sides simultaneously, ridding him of the sweat and stickiness that clung to him like the muck and mire of the Attila swamp.

"Let's roll him over and finish him off."

Now if _that_ had come from anyone else, it might not have had the same connotation, but again his eyelids flickered at the sound of Cassiopeia's voice. Abruptly, he was shifted onto his side, and the resultant pain in his abdomen had him sucking his breath in past his teeth. If they did it again, he damn well knew he'd suck his teeth in past his gums! His eyes shot open and he groaned.

Loudly.

"Should we increase the analgesia? He sounds like he's in pain."

_Do you think?_

The other voice. Also familiar, but he couldn't quite put a name to the face that flickered through his memories as he gazed blearily at the uniform of a med tech at about waist level. He cleared his throat, feeling as though there was something in it, and he reached slowly towards his face, only to have his hand seized in a gentle grip.

"It's okay, Starbuck. You're fine. There's a tube in your nose which you need to leave alone. Okay?"

"Cass?" he croaked. Or at least tried to. It actually sounded something like "Caddth?"

"How are you feeling?" Cassiopeia asked, her tone purely professional, yet with the same compassion she showed all her patients as she released his hand.

He could hear her reprogram the biomonitor while the other tech . . . _Giselle_, that was it . . . began dutifully washing his back, paying an inordinate amount of attention to his astrum, as far as he was concerned. It was . . . distracting, but not altogether unpleasant, or unflattering, and he found he couldn't quite recall Cassiopeia's question as his mind wandered and he grinned languidly. Two beautiful medics washing his body from head to toe. It could be another raunchy episode of 'Misbehaving Med Techs' from the _Bennion Hillion Show_. If only life could imitate art . . . then again, there was that time at the Academy Infirmary when . . .

"Almost done." The other med tech murmured soothingly. "You're covered in antiseptic, Lieutenant."

"Take your time," he returned sleepily and sighed, as the extra narcotic finally began to take effect. "Can't have that."

Giselle paused in her task, meeting Cassie's knowing smile and quietly chuckling before briskly drying him, allaying any possible thoughts that he might have that this was anything but a professional necessity.

"Is he awake?" The voice male, and familiar.

"Definitely." Cassie returned wryly. "Come in, Apollo. Luana." The blanket was pulled up, covering him as she spoke. "You have visitors, Starbuck. He's still sedated, Apollo. He might not make much sense right now."

"What do you mean by 'right now?'" Apollo returned with a faint smile, a supportive hand on Luana's arm. He paused to squeeze Cassiopeia's hand, miming a 'thank-you', knowing this couldn't be easy for her and she smiled gratefully in return. Then he followed Lu to the bio-stretcher, one on either side as the med techs diplomatically disappeared behind curtains. "That was a close one, buddy. How are you feeling?"

"Like I got rammed in the guts by a Base Ship," Starbuck mumbled, his hand protectively covering his stomach, as he pushed a button, and was slowly and carefully rotated onto his back so he could see them both.

"Do you remember what happened?" Luana asked, gripping his hand and lightly kissing it as she took in the sleepy features. He was pale, but then Dr. Salik had said that he'd lost a lot of blood. Almost too much. Fortunately, more warriors lined up to donate blood for their fellow pilot than any one man could need, and soon his veins were full once more. One thick tube that came out of his nose was draining a bilious green, and it competed for space with the oxygen prongs in both nares. An intravenous pumped fluids into his system, via an access on his upper arm, and another tube draining light amber fluid peeked out from beneath the sheet halfway down his body, leaving little doubt as to what it was draining. She brushed his hair back from his forehead with her fingers, just needing to touch him. Lords, it had scared her half to death when she had heard what had happened.

Her words seemed to kick start his brain . . . for the first time since he had awakened. _Must be some damned good drugs, Bucko._ Images of Sire Regus collapsing in the corridor, fleeting thoughts that the man was having a heart attack, the sudden screaming pain in his gut. "Sire  
. . . Regus . . ."

Apollo nodded slowly. "What happened?"

His lids drooped as he tried to put it all together, finally making enough sense of it in his mind to recount the story aloud. He licked lips that were dry, interrupting the telling of his tale several times, before finally stopping mid sentence. He had a vague recollection of a very distressed Chameleon at his side, holding his hand and tenderly kissing his forehead, his words indistinct as light, sound and awareness gradually disintegrated to nothingness. "I . . . I don't remember anything else after that."

"I wonder if Regus was faking it, luring you to him, or if he really _did_ have a heart attack," Apollo mused. He didn't even know if they were planning to do a post-mortem on the man who had dissected the main artery in his abdomen as he gutted himself in a traditional 'honourable' suicide. The cause of death was, after all, obvious.

"You think he was . . . waiting to try and kill me?" Starbuck asked, his brow furrowed, trying to make sense of it. "Why?"

"I'm not sure if I have it all straight." Apollo admitted. "Look, we didn't have time to tell you, but Rogane was found dead."

"What? Regus' son? How?"

"Overdosed. Apparently, he's had an Elysium addiction for some time."

Starbuck's eyes widened in shock. "This is just getting too fracking weird!"

"Further to that, they found the termination weapon that killed Myrddin _on_ Rogane. An archaic knife. Hundreds of yahrens old by the look of it. If he didn't kill Myrddin himself, he _was_ involved."

"Holy frack . . . " Archaic knife. Images of staring down in horror at the knife firmly embedded in his abdomen, the ornate hilt grasped in Regus' hands, his eyes full of burning hatred. And another room full of ancient weapons . . .

A light touch on his shoulder. "Are you okay?" Apollo's green eyes, full of concern, gazed into his intently.

"Uh . . . yeah . . . I just . . ." He shook his head, squeezing Luana's hand, before nodding at Apollo. "Go ahead."

"You're sure? I can come back later." Apollo reassured him.

"No, I'm sure. What else?"

"We talked to Siress Rea. Seems there's a connection between Regus and Fausto. Reece actually has a holoptic from a security vid feed that had Rogane talking with Guidobaldo. He's apparently Fausto's number two man. And Siress Rea said that Guidobaldo had been to see Sire Regus at least twice that she's aware of. The last time Sire Regus threw him out of their suites. Literally. Apparently that was just before Myrddin's death."

Starbuck groaned, cursing his haze of narcotic-induced stupidity, "I think my head is officially spinning." The facts zipped about his brain like a Cylon pinwheel attack, and every time he tried to add up two and two, he got three and a third.

Apollo briefly squeezed his shoulder in sympathy, smiling across at Luana. "_And_. . ."

Starbuck looked at him, "There's more?"

He nodded, "Dracus gave Regus the knife that killed Myrddin as a gift some time ago. Apparently, they met when both their kids were going through drug rehabilitation."

"Are they trying to set up Sire Dracus?" He blinked at Apollo. "After all, he was also going after Fausto when he called for an end to all open sports betting."

"It's definitely a possibility. Either that or . . ."

"Dracus is involved too," Starbuck finished. "I saw him . . . earlier today, I think." He hesitated, suddenly unsure of the time or even the day. Luana nodded at him to continue. "He collects long swords. Knives. Anything bladed and old. For some reason that surprised me." That whole exchange with Dracus replayed in his mind. "I'm not sure about him. I don't know how to read him exactly. I thought he was going to be . . . pretentious and uptight, but . . . he was surprisingly easy to talk to, even witty. He also apologized about his insinuations on the IFB."

"Sounds like you actually liked him." Apollo returned curiously.

"Now, I wouldn't go that far . . ." Starbuck smiled, not forgetting the subtle warning that Dracus had sent his way, if indeed he had interpreted that correctly. Was it the warning of an enemy, or a concerned ally? He just wasn't sure. "I . . .uh. . . I might have been a bit hasty when I was thinking of him as simply a fanatic puritan gone supernova."

"Well, you've never been one to jump to conclusions, buddy," Apollo smiled ruefully before adding, "Ryan said that Regus' last words were, 'Behold the Emperor'. Do you remember that? Does it mean anything to you specifically?"

"You know that I don't want anything to do with the Empyrean throne," Starbuck told him abruptly, hastily adding to Luana, "Unless we're talking about the abdicated princesses."

Her answering smile was radiant.

Then just as abruptly, he added, "Uh . . . just a centon." An elusive memory of a smart astrum quip came back to him. "I might have told Dracus . . . actually . . ." Starbuck tried to remember the words of his flippant remark. "I . . . uh . . ."

"What did you _say_?" Apollo asked, his voice low and serious. There was something about the look on Starbuck's face that just screamed, "oops!".

"Something like . . . 'Emperor Starbuck, it has a nice ring to it'." He smiled wanly, but Apollo was looking at him like he was a green cadet who had just suggested hitting his reverse thrusters to go _back_ up the launch tube. "I was just joking," he explained. "Just . . .getting a rise out of him."

Luana gripped his hand tightly. "_Starbuck_, if Sires Regus and Dracus were friends, and Dracus repeated that little off-the-cuff remark to Regus, even inadvertently, well . . ." She shook her head at him as_ if _to say . . . then she changed her mind and just said it, "Are you _crazy_? That's like poking an angry putrid with a stick at close range! No bloody wonder Regus wanted you dead! Especially if he was about to have a heart attack and drop on the spot anyway. Of course, he'd want to take you with him, making sure you didn't defile his precious idealisms of the Empyrean Monarchy." She blew out an angry breath. "Knowing Regus, he probably thought he was doing something honourable."

He frowned at her outburst, letting out a breath. They were both staring at him with that 'what have you done?' look. "I think I'm going to be sick." His tube gurgled in sympathy and globs of thick, greenish bile were sucked away.

"And so you should be." Luana responded, not the least bit sympathetic. "How many times have people told you that that mouth of yours was going to get you into trouble one day?"

He paused, screwing up his face in concentration. Fleetingly, being told essentially the same thing by the IL Cylon, Lucifer, flitted through his head. "Twice?"

She smacked him in the arm. "That was probably just today."

"Luana's right, Starbuck." Apollo sighed, folding his arms across his chest. "But now I'm wondering if Dracus told him as a concerned friend, or with the intention that he knew Regus might be irrational enough to do something about it."

"I forget. Why does Dracus want me dead again? Did we go over this?" Starbuck rubbed his face wearily. So, now Apollo and Luana were telling him it was his own ignorant remark to Dracus that motivated Sire Regus to try and kill him, and also to commit suicide. And now Dracus possibly wanted him dead? "Last time I checked, not getting the Earthmen to the Council meeting on time wasn't cause for termination. Unless that's changed?"

"No. It hasn't." Apollo agreed. "I'm just exploring all the possibilities. Was this Regus' personal vendetta, or does someone else want you dead?" His lips tightened into a straight line. "The Commander was right. The bodies are adding up, and you just about joined the pile, Starbuck. And we thought we were being careful." None of them had even imagined an attack on Starbuck on the _Rising Star_ during the day, where anybody could have seen it. Their foremost concern was the night of the party, and not implicating Chameleon and the Earthmen while gathering the information necessary to pull off their plan. "Thank the Lords that Dayton heard something, if he hadn't . . ."

"I don't even want to think about it." Luana whispered.

"_You_ don't want to think about it," Starbuck deadpanned, then looked to Apollo. "How long am I supposed to be here?"

"It depends. Dr. Salik thought you could be out in a few days, as long as there are no complications."

"Plenty of time." Starbuck nodded, satisfied that he could still make the party. He squeezed Luana's hand, "Hey Roomie, wanna race hoverchairs?"

She grinned in return. "I'll let you know. Maybe once a few of those tubes are out. I wouldn't want to injure you by accidentally running over your catheter bag."

He winced.

"In the meantime, Starbuck, I'm going to have talk with Reece about having some Security presence here in the Life Station." Apollo told him. "If someone else out there wants you dead, they just might try again."

"Just how many people do you think are standing in line to kill me, Apollo?" Starbuck asked indignantly. "I can . . . sort of understand Regus. After all, we have some history there . . . but I still say he . . . overreacted." He looked at them both in turn, almost expecting them to say otherwise.

"I don't want to take any chances." Apollo told him. "Besides, if there _is_ another assassin, it puts all of the patients and medical staff here at risk. Right?"

Starbuck nodded, conceding, "Right."

"And one more thing." Apollo tapped his forehead. "_Think_ before you _talk_."

Starbuck stared at him long and hard.

"What?" Apollo stared right back, daring him to argue the point.

Starbuck raised his eyebrows ruefully before muttering, "Well, I've _thought_ about it . . . and I've decided not to _say_ it."

Apollo shook his head slowly, considering the other. "Well, then, we've made some progress." His lips quirked, but then he lost complete control of them, and he grinned as he saw Starbuck's simultaneous smirk.

"Stop it, you two." Luana chuckled at them.

"Seriously, Starbuck. That scared the felgercarb out of me. We didn't see it coming, and that probably means we're up against something more than we're imagining." Apollo squeezed the other's shoulder shaking his head slightly at the thought of losing his best friend and wingman, especially due to negligence or freak mishap. "Besides . . .I've got a pile of long-range patrols coming up, and I need you around to torment with them."

Starbuck rolled his eyes dramatically, then smiled and more seriously replied, "I'm not going anywhere, buddy."

"Better not, or I'll have this place wall-to-wall with warriors guarding your recumbent astrum. Hades Hole, Jolly and Cree practically wanted to camp out in the corridor when they heard the news." Once again, he squeezed Starbuck's shoulder and held his gaze, as though reluctant to let him go. "I'd better let you get some rest." He turned to leave, then paused, turning back. "I almost forgot, Chameleon was here waiting with the rest of us. He said to give you his best."

"Thanks," he nodded.

"He . . . he was_ really _upset, Starbuck." He shook his head at the memory of the conman exploding at them all. "Distraught."

"Yeah, well . . ." Starbuck winced, studying Luana's fingers entwined in his own. "He gets all . . . _fatherly_ sometimes."

"You make it sound like that's a _bad_ thing." Luana remarked. "He came and spoke with me in the Life Station after they took you into surgery. He tried to console me, though he actually looked like he needed it as much as I did. He was very sweet. You'll have to tell me exactly who he is when you're feeling up to it."

Starbuck nodded, "It's a long story."

"The best ones usually are." She replied, leaning down to gently kiss him. "I love you. Get some rest." She planted another lingering kiss on his lips, and then turned quickly to go, but was stopped by him grabbing the back of her Life Station gown. "Hey!" she sputtered as she felt the back half of the gown coming apart and a definite rush of cold air on her astrum. She froze in place, facing Apollo uncomfortably as she tried to reach behind her and retrieve the two ends of the gown . . . the one Starbuck was holding onto stubbornly refusing to conjoin with the other.

"I'm . . . going now." Apollo nodded at them and deked out through the privacy curtains with the speed and agility of the top notch triad player that he was, calling back as he went, "Try to be an upstanding moral example to others, Starbuck. If you know how."

"Does that work lying down?" Starbuck retorted before the curtains began to swish closed.

Luana sighed and thanked her lucky stars that Apollo was a gentleman . . . unlike the rogue behind her. With a mighty jerk, she grabbed her gown and turned around to see that cheeky grin in place that she had come to know only too well. "Something you wanted?" she asked, unable to resist his smile when hand over hand he began pulling her closer.

"You seem to be in an awful hurry to get out of here all of a sudden, Lu." It was somewhere between a statement and a question.

She shrugged for lack of an answer that she was willing to admit to, but leaned down in a natural response to her pulling her against him. "You . . . you must be tired."

"Daggit tired," he murmured and kissed her, wrinkling his nose when the oxygen tube in his nose slipped and transferred itself magically to his mouth. "Bloody things. . ." he tugged at it in frustration.

"Then get some rest and stop sexually assaulting the other patients," she replied ruefully, amused that he could even be thinking that way with tubes coming out of so many orifices. Then again, he _was _Starbuck.

"Hey, that hurts! I haven't sexually assaulted anyone . . . well, since the last time I was here." He grinned devilishly, his eyes devouring her. "How could you even _think_ such a thing?"

"Oh, you . . .!" She leaned over, and gave him a kiss, withdrawing again to smile at him, and whisper throatily, "I'm just so relieved that you're alright."

He caressed her cheek with his fingers, his touch so light, it was barely perceptible. He smiled when she pressed his hand against her face, closing her eyes as if reveling in his touch. "I didn't want you to go without . . ." he sighed, as if he was having trouble finding the words . . . or just saying them.

"What?" she asked expectantly, but then reined herself in, not daring to hope.

He smiled at her then, a tender smile that reflected in his eyes, and came from the heart. "I love you, Luana."

Her eyes misted up, and she bit her lip, thinking how close she had come to losing him, having never heard those words. She kissed him tenderly once again and smiled mischievously in return. "Me too, Starbuck. Me too."


	78. Chapter 78

Chameleon hesitated at the entrance to the Life Station. It had taken an entire night's worth of tossing and turning over what he was going to say to his son, before he was ready to make his way back to the _Galactica_. A small smile quirked his lips for a moment as he saw Starbuck waving off a large, muscular man in a med tech's uniform who was obviously trying to convince him to get up out of the biobed. The conman positioned himself halfway behind the doorway, and watched in amusement as the med tech, who actually looked more like a bouncer from a cheap dive, positioned himself in front of the warrior. Starbuck comedically waved his hands in front of him in self-defense, obviously having plenty to say about it—though Chameleon couldn't hear a word—and the medic, completely ignoring him, placed one arm under Starbuck's shoulder and another on his hip, and in one fluid motion had the reluctant participant seated on the edge of the biobed.

So, it served the med tech right when his son immediately threw up on him.

It was almost like watching one of those old Life Station comedy shows. The med tech paused, still tucked in close to his patient so that in any other circumstance one would think they were embracing. His eyes closed tightly in disbelief and disgust, no doubt feeling the wetness that was running down the back of his uniform. Starbuck looked twice as miserable as before, hunched over with his hand clenching his stomach and shaking his head in indignation, probably because the man hadn't listened to him to begin with. He pushed the medic away with his free hand, and the man gladly retreated, turning the other way as he lifted the fabric from his shoulders, separating the soiled garment from his skin.

For a fleeting moment, Chameleon was remind of the first time he had held and burped his infant son, so long ago. Well, he'd held him, yes. The 'burping' had been the boy's idea. He smiled, finding the incident suddenly funny after all these yahrens. Then Chameleon watched as Starbuck went from staring lasers at the med tech's back, to his features suddenly changing. His mouth partially opened, as if to say something, and then his head tipped back slightly, his eyes rolled, and he began pitching forward . . .

Chameleon instinctively took a step inside the room, but seemingly from out of nowhere, Commander Dayton was already there. He caught the young man, and almost appeared to cradle him for a moment as he pushed him gently upward to his previous position and spoke quietly to him, reassuring him . . . just as a father might. As luck would have it, the only other person who knew his secret—other than Cassiopeia—had chosen this moment to appear. _Now is not a good time, Cham_. The old conman sighed and slipped out of the Life Station unobserved.

----------

"Easy there, _Barista Boy_, head between the knees," Dayton patted Starbuck on the back tentatively, nodding at Hinnus. The med tech had been heading to the tech station with a large and fragrant stain of vomit on his retreating back when the Commander had entered the scene. Starbuck had looked like he was about to pitch forward onto the floor. He had caught the younger man by the shoulders steadying him. "I've got him," he reassured the med tech who very much looked like he wanted to change his tunic more than anything else in the universe. And, after all, who could blame him?

"Are you sure?" Hinnus asked, revulsion on his twisted features.

"Yeah, I wanted to see him anyway," Dayton nodded, feeling Starbuck's head resting against his stomach, as he curled forward. His shoulders moved up and down with each escalated breath under Dayton's hands. "Slow down, Lieutenant," he spoke slowly. Measuredly. But with an unmistakable tone of command. "Deep breaths."

Whether it was in response to the voice of command, or just common sense, Starbuck seemed to slow his gasping breaths until, a centon later, he was breathing normally. "All right now?" Dayton asked, feeling the other pull back and begin to sit upright. He stared down at the top of the dark-blond head.

"Yeah. Great. Never better."

Dayton took a step back, his hands still on Starbuck's shoulders, and leaned down to look into his face. Damp hair clung to his head and he was ashen. "Like Hell. You look like crap, kid. On a stick."

"Crap?" He licked his lips and swallowed, a faint smile on his face as he pondered the second part. Maybe he had dispensed with the Languatron a bit prematurely. "Is that another one of those java jokes?"

"Only at McDonald's," Dayton replied, letting him go slowly. "Or maybe instant." When he was satisfied that Starbuck wasn't going anywhere, and that the glazed look in his eyes was in reaction to his McDonald's gibe, he turned to grab a chair, and sat down in front of him.

"Thanks," Starbuck murmured, pushing his hair back from his eyes and reaching for the cup of ice on his table. He poured a couple ice chips into his mouth, sucking on them, almost missing the gargantuan nose tube that had up until a couple centars ago kept his stomach pleasantly empty.

"I'm fairly certain I owed you that one," Dayton returned, realizing it was a new record for them. In each other's presence for almost a centon, no one to mediate, and neither had swung a fist at the other.

"Well, thanks for last night too." Starbuck's eyes briefly met Dayton's, before he activated the biobed controls and the head of the bed raised to meet him. Slowly he lowered himself back down, sighing in relief when he was once again recumbent.

"I can't believe you had the presence of mind to fire your gun," Dayton shook his head. Stabbed in the gut, going into shock, and he pulls a weapon to defend himself. _Unbelievable_. _They built them tough in the Colonies evidently._

"I can't believe I mis . . . " he bit his lip, wincing slightly, his hand again protecting his stomach. Right now, it felt like the Cylons were field-testing a new weapon of massive destruction in it.

"Missed?" Dayton asked in surprise. He had assumed it had been a warning shot, but now . . .

He looked steadily at Dayton and then shook his head, clearing his throat. "Mis . . . _took_ an attempt on my life. . . for a heart attack."

The Commander paused, studying the younger man. Had he caught him in a weak moment? About to admit he had aimed to kill? Perhaps they were even more alike than everyone persisted in telling him. "Heart attack? I'm not sure that you meant . . . " He hesitated, but those blue eyes didn't waver. "You _are_ good, I'll give you that." He waited, and smiled ruefully, not in the least bit surprised that Starbuck's mask remained unreadable. "The way you keep surviving," he added as an afterthought.

"It's my job. Survive to kill another day. How's Dickins?" Starbuck asked, changing the subject. Those moments after Regus had stabbed him were a blur, and he really couldn't remember whether he had shot to kill in self-defense, or not. Not that it really mattered at this point.

"He's getting dressed. He's been released. We're headed for the OClub to celebrate."

Starbuck nodded, "Good." He glanced over where Hinnus was returning from getting a fresh uniform . . . and winced. It was almost a given that if Hinnus was on duty, something would go wrong. Usually, it involved disgusting bodily fluids. Or solids. Or hideous combinations thereof. Starbuck's to be more precise. He shook his head softly muttering, "Frack."

"Don't sweat it. It's part of his job." Dayton shrugged.

"That's like saying that getting _shot down_ is a part of mine." Starbuck returned. "I'd just as soon it didn't happen, even if it _is_ an occupational hazard."

"Good point. But that's why they pay you the big bucks." Dayton smiled as the other rolled his eyes. "Has your . . .uh, has Chameleon been around?"

"No." Starbuck looked at him curiously. "His name keeps coming up though. A lot."

"I'm sure the rest of him will be along eventually."

Starbuck grinned, nodding at the other. "I heard you say _you_ wanted to see me."

"Yeah." Dayton shifted, feeling a bit silly. "I . . . uh. . ."

He sniffed in amusement at the stuttering. "Well, I never thought I'd see the day _you_ were lost for words."

"Me neither. In fact my mother used to say the same thing." Dayton shrugged. "I . . . was told you and Cassiopeia recently . . . parted ways."

"By Ryan." Starbuck nodded, remembering the way Cassie had glommed onto the Earth Commander in the Life Station, unsure how much of it was for Dayton's benefit, and how much of it was for his own. "Go on."

"Well, since you two were a . . . well, an item. . . I thought I should ask you . . ." He sighed, cursing Ryan and his stupid idea. Here he was a senior citizen, and he was asking for the permission of a man less than half his age to date a grown woman, well past the age of majority. Then again, the lieutenant did pack a laser pistol, and wasn't all that reluctant to use it from what he'd gathered.

"You want to ask her out," Starbuck concluded, watching the man wring his hands uncomfortably. "Lords, I hope your approach is a whole lot smoother with Cass than it is with me."

"I admit, I'm . . . a bit out of practice." He frowned, looking at the deck.

"Just a _bit_?" Starbuck paused as Hinnus came by, checked the readings on the biobed, then entered results into his data pad.

The med tech looked reluctantly at the lieutenant, who looked sheepishly back. "Sorry. I thought you were just trying to get out of getting up." He handed Starbuck a damp cloth.

"Well, _you're_ wearing it, pal." Starbuck returned, though his look was one of self- disgust. "Hades hole, Hinnus . . ." he blew out a deep breath, running the refreshing cloth over his face.

"Give yourself something for pain, Lieutenant," The burly man nodded towards the control beside the warrior. "You look like you need it." He waited until Starbuck pushed the button reluctantly, and then he moved off.

"Besides," continued Dayton after a moment, "I'm still learning my way around your society. Your culture. I didn't want to put my foot in it." The Viper pilot's brow furrowed at the phrase, and Dayton explained.

Starbuck nodded, plainly agreeing. "Let me ask you something first." He reached for his cup of ice, sucking back a couple more small cubes, either thinking about his choice of words, or letting the Commander sweat. A quick scan of the room, seemed to satisfy him of their privacy and then, "Tell me something. When you decided to come clean with Commander Adama and stop us from blowing ourselves to Hades Hole with the pirate base and the Dynamos . . ." he watched Dayton's reaction carefully, his voice low but purposely articulating each word. "What made you change your mind?"

"You think . . . I actually meant to kill you all?" Dayton asked softly.

"Are you telling me otherwise?" Starbuck countered, clearly challenging him to disabuse him of the idea.

Dayton's first inclination was to lie through his teeth. But there was something in the penetrating assessment of the Colonial Warrior that made him hesitate. It was as if Starbuck was granting him one more chance with all their cards face up on the table. He had always had the unsettling idea that somehow the kid could see right through him. It could have been some kind of natural gift, or the acquired skill set of a gambler and thrill seeker, but somehow Dayton knew that against all odds, Starbuck had his number.

_Mark, you're obviously spending way too much time on the Rising Star!_

"You're a Colonial Warrior, Lieutenant. A combat-experienced soldier. I assume you had to take some kind of oath to protect your people, your society, your world." Dayton posed. "Worlds."

Starbuck nodded, waiting.

"By extension of that, I've seen how fiercely you protect your friends. The people you care about. Especially, your fiancée. You're a man of honour."

"I wanted a 'yes' or 'no', not a line of bovine mong," Starbuck replied candidly. "I know _all_ about me, tell me about _you_, Dayton."

"Fair enough." Dayton scooted the chair closer, crossing a leg at the ankle. "When I first looked at your people, what I saw was a relatively small group of refugees with a race of killer machines on their tails that were intent on exterminating every last Human in the galaxy. Not only that, but when I left Earth, my planet was far from being technologically sophisticated enough to protect themselves from the Cylons, never mind help your people as well."

Dayton watched Starbuck nod slowly, processing the information. The warrior rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

_He needs a shave _Dayton thought fleetingly.

"Now, if _you_ were _me_, what conclusion would you have drawn?" Dayton asked.

"The Destruction. All over again. Another bloodbath. This time, the complete annihilation of Mankind on Earth." Starbuck replied. "Did you tell Commander Adama that?"

"Your Commander told me that your journey was guided through divine intervention, and that no matter the seeming difficulties, that you were meant to fulfill this quest."

He couldn't read Starbuck's reaction. A slight nod, as though he could understand Adama saying those words, balanced with an underlying current of something else.

"The Commander believes very strongly in his faith," Starbuck conceded. "More so than many of us," he amended, then added, "He's also a brilliant military leader. We wouldn't be here if he wasn't. He saw the Cylon bait and switch, just barely in time." He took a deep breath, considering the other. "So you thought . . .?"

"Religious zealot, basically, with no concern for Earth or her people." Dayton again looked around, ensuring they were out of earshot. "Then that angel guy showed up. John."

"How did that happen exactly?" Starbuck asked, as he recalled both of his experiences with the Ship of Lights Beings; the first, as that excruciatingly high pitched sound screeched in their ears until he and Sheba blacked out, and the second when John simply appeared from behind him on Terra.

"He was just. . . there." Dayton shrugged, half closing his eyes, trying to recapture the ethereal quality of the moment. "I wish I could remember it all. It's a bit of a blur now. But after he talked to me, well, then I knew . . . that your Commander was _right_. Despite all my concerns, my _fear _for my home world, he was right. And even though it didn't really make a lot of sense at that moment, that I needed to have _faith_ . . . and remember that we're all brothers, and that we're in this together. The rest I can work out along the way." He decided to leave out mentioning his long-ago encounter with Iblis. Apparently, Starbuck had something of a history with that being as well. The kid didn't need any more stress.

"That's _it_?" Starbuck asked.

"You sound . . . disappointed." Dayton remarked.

"Yeah, well, I've already had the 'Faith 32 dash B' Speech from Ama, and that one didn't exactly ease my mind either." Starbuck muttered, thinking back to when Luana was still in a coma. Then again . . . the recovery she had made since then . . . He blinked. "So you had some kind of . . . _epiphany_, and now you've changed your mind."

"About what?" Dayton returned evenly, still not willing to admit to anything aloud. Much like Starbuck and his mis . . . _take_.

Starbuck nodded slowly, understanding his reluctance. "You see, the thing about you Dayton is that when I met you I had the feeling you were a _decent_ guy. And I consider myself a good judge of character. Then you killed that attendant in the Control Center on the pirate base and . . ." He sighed, shaking his head. "Since then, every time I get near you we end up . . ."

"Bashing each other's brains in." Dayton nodded, his fingers tracing the slight swelling on his bruised cheekbone from their last bout. "I know. But . . . I give you my word on this, Starbuck, I don't mean your people any harm." Steel grey eyes bored into blue ones. "That said, I'm definitely going to do what I can to make sure you people look at either eradicating your enemies or making damn sure you've lost them before you find Earth."

Starbuck held his gaze for a moment. Then his lips quirked. "Then run for Council."

"Yeah, right." The derision evident.

"Why not?"

"I'm sure you people have a few rules about these things. We sure as hell did."

"Hey, you're potentially a descendent from the Thirteenth Tribe." Starbuck pointed out. "If we wanted to, we could do all kinds of genetic trace studies that just _might_ find out you're related . . ."

"That's a mighty big _might_, fella."

"I'm not claiming to have all the answers, but you could look into it. Besides, we've had members representing the Twelve Colonies of Man for millennia." He paused, opening his eyes wide and shaking his head in wonder. "Well, how about that! There's no representative for the Thirteenth colony of Man! And danged if that isn't where we're headed!" He smiled and shrugged. "Seems to me a natural progression."

"I'm no goddamn politi. . . bureautician." Dayton said, recalling the Colonial equivalent.

"And I'm no goddamned liaison officer. The point is . . . " He grinned. "You can fling bovine mong with the best of them, so you're qualified. Trust me. And elections are next sectar."

"Remember something. There are only _five_ of us. That's not enough to warrant a seat in your government."

"Maybe. Depends how you look at it. Ama's people technically were heading to Earth. So . . . they could qualify as part of the thirteenth tribe. Perhaps you could join forces." He paused for a moment to think about it, then chuckled to himself and nodded as though he was reliving a private joke. "Besides, if it's truly our _destiny_ that we're going to Earth, and you're supposed to have a particular influence over how we do it, then it will all work out. Fate will intervene. Or maybe John will. Maybe he's putting the idea in my head right now." He lifted up a finger and raised his eyebrows as though a thought had just miraculously appeared. "Hmm. Maybe if we did an iris cone count and hemotype with one of Ama's people we would magically find a match, just because you're _meant_ to be on the Council, and influence a particular outcome."

"What are the odds of that happening?" Dayton scoffed.

"About a million to one." Starbuck grinned, then let out a deep breath, looking out the window to the vastness of space beyond . . . the Sanitation Ship. "Could be . . . we're just playing out our parts and the outcome has already been decided."  
Dayton sat forward, "Do you really believe that?"  
Starbuck smirked before looking back at the Commander, "No."

Dayton sat back and studied the younger man, shaking his head. "Well, now I'm not really sure _what_ to think of you. _Or _what you just said. I didn't come here to the Life Station with any of this in mind."

"So, give it some thought." Starbuck suggested.

"You would actually _trust_ me to be on your Council?"

"Hey, I've stood by for a few of those Council meetings. I think we could use a few good people with some common sense in there. And a military background doesn't hurt either. At least you'll know how to get the job done, instead of just sitting there talking about it. Endlessly." He rolled his eyes. "Besides, as one of those people planning to make it to Earth, I have a vested interest in making sure that it's going to be around for future generations of Colonials and Earthlings alike." Starbuck sighed, leaning back. "Besides."

"Besides?"

"There are some of our would-be leaders, like Sires Domra and Feo for instance, who are starting to talk settlement. Saying that we should stop the voyage, and find some nice planet to settle on. But, it isn't really _that_ long since we last tangled with the Cylons, at least from a military point of view. We were damn lucky to come out of that one as well as we did. Trust me, those bastards don't give up. Ever."

"Terminator," said Dayton.

"Huh?"

"Uh, never mind. So my running would help?"

"It could help show people that stopping now, before we either reach Earth or finally stop the Cylons, would be a death sentence." He sighed again. "We can't let that happen, Dayton. We need you Earthlings. Damn it, we _need_ you."

"Lord," Dayton grinned, his eyes sparkling. "That was . . . inspiring. But . . ."

"What?"

"We don't like to be called "Earthlings'." He shook his head and managed a small shudder for effect.

"Oh." Starbuck replied, shrugging slightly, "Ryan. . . actually told me you _preferred_ it,"

"He would."

Starbuck sniffed in amusement. "And as for Cassiopeia . . ."

Dayton perked up. "Yes?"

"We're over. But . . . it wasn't that long ago, so . . ."

"I'm not in any hurry." Dayton assured him. He looked up at a mirror over the biobed. _Yeah. Like hell you aren't, old man._

"Good. Because if you hurt her," Starbuck nodded solemnly. "_I'll bust your chops."_

Dayton chuckled as the English words rolled off the warrior's tongue with an accent he really couldn't describe. "Ryan again."

Starbuck nodded. "Yeah, the words are his, but the sentiment is _all_ mine."

"Understood."

----------

"Take care of yourself, Dickins," Cassiopeia told him through the Languatron. "There's still a bit of healing to be done, so get plenty of rest."

The older man nodded, as Dayton approached from the main ward. "Thanks for your care, Miss Cassie. I appreciate it," he replied as the Languatron again translated his words to her. He shook his head in amazement at the two-way translator.

"You ready, Dick?"

"Well, I've been discharged. I'm not so sure about the rest, Mark." Dickins replied, wondering what life beyond the walls of the Life Station would be like. "You catch that translator thing?" He pointed at the blinking device. "Like something out of _Star Trek_ or whatever. I keep expecting Leonard Nimoy or whoever to pop out around a corner any minute."

"Yeah, it's really something, Dick."

"Glad they aren't a rerun of Bex's boys."

"They're good people, Dick. We'll be just fine." Dayton replied, nodding to Cassiopeia and changing to Colonial Standard. "Hello, Cassiopeia. Nice to see you again." He had noticed that her assignment of patients seemed to exclude Starbuck. Somehow it was reassuring.

"Commander Dayton." Cassie smiled. "Nice to see you too. Are you ready to take him out of here?"

"Actually, there was something I wanted to talk to _you_ about beforehand . . . if you have a moment?"

"Certainly," she smiled, curious as to whether he had some question about Dickins, or if the hunch she had was correct . . . hoping the latter. She slid the data card from Dickens' biobed into the computer, and entered his medical information. That done, she turned back to the Earthman.

"I . . . uh . . ." He looked to Dickins, switching back to English. "Dick, could you give a us a minute?"

"Uh . . . sure." Dickins nodded and smiled at Cassiopeia again, noticing her eyes quickly returned to his Commander. "Where's the OClub?"

"Well, uh . . . " Dayton tossed him the Languatron. "Remember Starbuck? The Colonial Warrior who helped us get out of the pit?"

"Sure."

"He's right out there. Go ask him, and if you can't figure it out, I'll be out in a minute."

"Yup."

"Hey, remember," said Cassie, calling after him. "You still have medication in your system. Easy on the alcohol!"

He turned back, pointed a finger at her, and winked, then left.

"Uhh, how'd you know he was heading off to the watering hole?"

"You mentioned Starbuck," she smiled.

"Ah!"

"So . . . What's on your mind, Commander Dayton?"

"Please, call me Mark."

"Mark." _Lords. Funny names!_

"There's a little soiree on the _Rising Star_ coming up. About four days away actually. I was hoping you would do me the honour of accompanying me?"

"It would be my pleasure . . . Mark." Cassie replied, her smile radiant.

"_Really_?"

He must have looked like a sixteen year old kid who had just been told by his Dad that he could borrow the car, because her beautiful smile turned into a delightful laugh as she tossed back her head. She looked like an angel. Correction, a classic Earth style angel.

"Why do you sound so _surprised_?" she asked him, still laughing lightly.

"Because I'm old enough to be your father, I'm from a different star system, clueless about your social norms, and I'm an out-of-work astronaut." Dayton replied honestly. "And to be honest, I haven't asked a girl out in well over thirty years. Uh, yahrens. I'm a bit out of practice. I didn't want to put my foot in it."

Cassie shook her head. "I like older men. They have a certain amount of charm, and eloquence that only comes through experience." It had certainly been true with Cain.

"Hmm." Dayton smiled slightly, taking her hand and raising it to his lips, brushing a tender kiss across her fingers, like some old-fashioned movie dandy. "Can we sort out the details later? I really should get back to Dickins."

"Absolutely," she agreed. "How about over dinner?"

"Uh . . . that's . . . just _great_!" He found himself chuckling in glee like a kid in a candy store who had been on a diet for . . . thirty years. Yep, it was glee._ What a schmuck!_

"I get off at 1900."

He looked up at the chrono above her work station, hoping he had the Colonial time system figured out by now. _Man, I'm gonna need to get a watch._ "Where should I pick you up?"

"Come with me, and I'll give you my comm number and directions to my quarters." Cassie told him with a smile as they walked to the med tech's station together. Dickins stood waiting by the door to the corridor.

"Hey, I thought you were going to the OC?" Dayton asked him.

The other man pointed to Starbuck. "He's asleep. Dead asleep."

Dayton winced looking over at the warrior. "Could you rephrase that?" Starbuck looked fine, his chest rising and falling steadily, his face relaxed making him appear even younger than his age. For a moment, Dayton thought he looked singularly innocent, lying there.

_Like a debauched choirboy!_

"Asleep?" the voice came from behind him.

Dayton turned to see Chameleon. "Yeah. Give him a nudge. I'm sure he'd like to see you."

"No, no. I don't want to disturb him. He needs his rest." Chameleon murmured, ready to turn heel once again.

Cassiopeia took the old conman by the arm, folding her own into his, and leading him towards Starbuck's biobed. "Sit with him a while."

"I don't know if I should . . ."

"I _do_. You _should_." Cassie replied firmly, pulling a chair over and motioning for Chameleon to sit.

"How is he?" Chameleon just stood there, watching his son sleep. He tentatively reached over gently brushing the young man's hair from his eyes, thinking about how often he had done that when Starbuck was a boy. _Not often enough_. The warrior stirred slightly, readjusting his position, his eyelids fluttering for a micron before returning to a deep sleep.

Cassie briefly looked at the datapad at his bedside. "He's doing fine. A bit sore still, and nauseated it seems. But that's not surprising, given all the trauma to the abdomen he's had in the last few days." She glanced through the several fields of data. "They're expecting his release in a couple days."

"Oh." Chameleon replied. He had almost hoped that Starbuck wouldn't be well enough to attend the party and take on accessing Fausto's computer. "I didn't think you could almost die and be released so quickly. It seems . . . premature."

"He has youth, good health, and a certain stubbornness going for him," Cassie smiled ruefully. "The stubbornness, I suspect, is hereditary. Otherwise, we'd probably hang onto him a couple extra days."

Chameleon nodded, taking her hand and squeezing it lightly. "I was so very sorry to hear about . . . "

Cassie shook her head, "Don't be. It's been a while in the coming." She glanced at Starbuck once again to make sure that he really was asleep. "I need more than he's willing to give, Chameleon. At least more than he was willing to give to _me_." She smiled sadly realizing that he was apparently willing to go a little further for Luana.

Chameleon nodded, understanding. How many women had said the same of him over the yahrens? None could touch his heart the way that Gabrielle had.

_Except . . maybe. . .if I was thirty yahrens younger. . . you old fool._

"Stay with him." Cassiopeia told him. "I'm going to be honest with you. The last thing standing between me and a clean break with Starbuck is that promise I made to you. I'm not willing to keep it any longer. I don't want that extra burden. Especially knowing that he almost died last night not even knowing that you're his father."

"I was thinking the same thing." Chameleon murmured guiltily. "I'm . . .I'm being given another chance, aren't I?"

"Yes," she replied simply. No recriminations, no scolding. Just a simple answer.

"Alright," he sighed, straightening up. "I'll tell him."

"Today?" she asked.

"Today."

----------

It was unexpected. To say the least. Sire Dracus had actually contacted Colonial Security and asked them to speak with him regarding Sire Regus' death and the attempt on Lieutenant Starbuck's life. A surprised Reece had immediately commed Apollo to attend the meeting, explaining that Sire Dracus didn't volunteer any information over the comm, but felt he might have something pertinent to contribute to the investigation.

The two men at once went to the Council Chambers, where Dracus had said he would be awaiting them, already being present on the _Galactica_ for a meeting with the Earthmen later that day.

"Gentlemen. Captain Apollo, Officer Reece, please come in." Sire Dracus welcomed them, motioning for them to have a seat at the table. "Tell me what I can do to assist with your investigation."

"Sire Dracus, we have a few questions that we were hoping might clear up _some_ of what happened last night," Apollo told him, shaking his head at the proffered chair. Somehow it didn't seem appropriate for a common warrior to occupy one of those chairs, though some of the high esteem that he had once held for that position had faded since routinely seeing the proceedings. Proceedings that more often than not resembled a bureaucratic battle ground, where the focus seemed to be the clever one-upmanship of a peer, rather than the actual accomplishment of anything useful. The high office that had once demanded his respect had been demystified, and he now understood yahrens of frustration that had had his father often teeming with frustration.

"By all mean," Dracus returned pleasantly.

"Sire, it's our understanding that your daughter underwent some treatments for drug addiction on Sagittarius?" Apollo asked.

"Ah. I see." Dracus responded slowly, wearily taking a seat at the table, but pushing himself back from it to address the warriors. "Yes, I'm afraid that's true."

"And that while she was there, you became friendly with Sire Regus, whose son was also in treatment at that time," Apollo added.

"Also true. Sire Regus and I became quite good friends. We supported each other through a lot of . . . personal tragedy. I shall miss him dearly," Dracus said quietly.

"Did you happen to see Sire Regus last night? Or speak with him."

"Yes, Captain. I did as a matter of fact. That's really why I contacted Security. He came to my quarters to discuss his son's death. He was grief stricken, as you must imagine."

"What else did you discuss, Sire Dracus?"

"Your Lieutenant Starbuck's name came up." Dracus readily admitted. "More than once."

"Could you elaborate, Sir?" Reece asked. "In what context?"

"Sire Regus believed that Rogane began using Elysium again after the scandal at the Empyrean Ball. He talked quite openly about how he felt your Lieutenant was to blame for his son resuming his addiction."

"He really believed that?" Apollo asked. "He said as much?"

"Fathers sometimes don't always see clearly when their sons are concerned, Captain." He held Apollo's gaze a moment. "I should amend that and say 'children' instead." Dracus smiled sadly, lost in thought for a micron or two. "Regus often looked for another source of blame when it came to his eldest, and favourite, child."

"Then you didn't agree with his assessment?" Reece enquired.

"No. The number of Elysium addicts that return to their drug is astounding. The recovery rate is very low. There's a psychological addiction as well as a physical one, and even at the clinic, the doctors admitted there was much about the drug and how it affected the brain they did not yet fully understand. It's a coping response. An escape from reality. A way of life really."

"Sire Regus' last words were '_behold the Emperor'_. He was apparently looking at Starbuck at the time. Does that mean anything to you, Sire Dracus?" Apollo asked, watching closely for a reaction after speaking to Starbuck of his comment.

"Are you sure?" Dracus asked, paling visibly. "Dear God . . . " he shook his head in horror.

"What?" Reece asked.

"I'm afraid . . . I may have played a part in . . . Regus' attack on the Lieutenant." He bowed his head, running a hand over his face. "I never would have thought that . . ."

"Sire Dracus?"

"I . . . I told Regus of a remark . . . that your Lieutenant had made to me." He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his strength. "Lieutenant Starbuck said something about . . . claiming his throne as Emperor. I mentioned it to Regus. He became . . . incensed. But I never thought he would . . ." His features tightened as if in pain, and he buried his face in his hands. "God, forgive me."

"Sire Dracus, Sir. We know that Sire Regus was approached by a man named Fausto who tried to blackmail him in return for keeping the information about Rogane's addiction a secret. Were you also approached?" Reece asked, as the Councilman took a couple deep breaths and struggled to maintain his composure.

"Lords of Kobol . . . you gentlemen almost make me wish I had a Protector present." Dracus sighed adjusting his collar. "Yes, that . . . roachon, Fausto, _has_ approached me. Repeatedly. But each and every time I have sent his lap-daggit, Guidobaldo, running back to where he came from with his tail between his legs." His jaw tightened as his posture gradually changed from weary to tense. "I will not debase myself or begrime my role as a respected Member of the Council of Twelve. I will not betray the trust of my people. He can _do_ what he wants, _say_ what he wants, I have nothing to hide. I am who I am . . . " His voice had risen, and he pounded his fist on the table, his face a glower of fury. Then he quietly added, ". . . and so was my daughter."

----------

That sixth sense was telling Starbuck that someone was watching him. That niggling alarm at the back of his mind that never seemed to shut off . . . but of course hadn't bothered to even _bleep_ when a certain Empyrean bureautician carrying a knife had decided to gut him.

_Maybe the power cell needs to be changed, Bucko_.

He could hear the usual sounds of the Life Station: voices as med techs did their rounds, warning alarms on medical equipment, the general din of the busy health center.

When he realized the presence he was detecting was unlikely to be an ominous one, he opened his eyes . . . and the old conman's stared back at him.

_Chameleon._

Speaking of warning bells, there was something going on. Hades hole, everybody was either pointing out how frantic the old man was with worry, or they were asking if Chameleon had been to see him yet. _Yet_. It was if there was a sense of expectation in the air . . . and it all hinged on one man.

"How are you feeling, Starbuck?"

That waver in his voice not only evinced Chameleon's advanced yahrens, but his fragile emotional state. Starbuck simply looked back at him, wondering what was coming, and how a guy stuck in a biobed could manage any evasive maneuvers, especially with a control stick that only put his head and feet up or down, or helped him turn over. _Where the frack are the turbos on this thing?_

"Starbuck?" Chameleon repeated with concern.

The warrior cleared his throat, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and shaking off that impending feeling of foreboding that he couldn't really explain, never mind justify. _Must be the drugs._ "Fine. I'm fine."

"I really thought I was going to . . ." Chameleon paused as his voice unexpectedly broke. Images of his bleeding son lying on the floor with his gut sliced open, gasping for each hard fought breath, raced through his mind. He took a steadying breath, ". . . to _lose_ you last night, son," he admitted, scooting his chair closer to the young man. "It made a foolish old man realize a few things . . ."

Starbuck realized his mouth was hanging half open in shock, a short gasping breath escaping his lips. "Chameleon . . ." He shook his head from side to side, denying in his mind what his heart had already figured out.

"_Please_, Starbuck . . . let me get this out." Chameleon begged him.

Starbuck licked suddenly dry lips, a faint nausea gripping him as he felt his body react to the inner turmoil. A heaviness centered in his chest and stomach, and it squeezed and churned concurrently, until still-healing tissue screamed in protest at the sudden reflexive clenching of abdominal muscles. He pressed on his abdomen groaning aloud as his respirations became shallow and rapid.

Chameleon jumped to his feet, and pressed the control into his son's hand which Cassiopeia had explained delivered pain medication on demand through his intravenous access. He could hear the faint _beep_ as his son's thumb hit the button, and the dose was delivered.

The effect was instantaneous. The lines of pain on Starbuck's face diminished, his body began to relax, his breathing slowed. Chameleon grabbed a nearby damp cloth and wiped the resulting sweat from the young man's forehead and face. "Better?"

Starbuck let out a derisive breath, feeling his body meld back into the biobed as he slumped in sudden exhaustion. "I don't _believe_ this. . ." He looked up at the conman, pushing the cloth aside. "_Why_? Why didn't you . . . _tell_ me?"

"I didn't expect . . . I was afraid . . . " Chameleon stuttered seeing the hurt, confusion and utter disbelief on Starbuck's features, a vulnerability that he hadn't seen in the young man since Starbuck had shared some of his hopes and dreams as they were being tested for a genetic match, or later when they were awaiting the test results . "Let me explain. _Please_."

Starbuck felt raw. Exposed. Betrayed. With a slightly shaky hand he rubbed his jaw, rough with a day's growth of beard, realizing he had been conned, not once, but twice by Chameleon. His own father. His voice was unrecognizable, thick with emotion, as he rasped, "Go ahead."


	79. Chapter 79

Sorting out half-truths and facts from blatant lies. Trying to remember what he had told Starbuck so many sectars ago, when they had met. How much of it was pertinent to his con, and how much was real life. It was a tangled web that Chameleon had spun and now had to extricate himself from. If he didn't, he would undoubtedly lose Starbuck for good.

_Pros and Cons_?

One obvious thing that he had going for him was that his son was virtually bedridden. Starbuck's obvious pain and nausea, his generally rotten condition, made him a captive audience. And when Chameleon gazed into his eyes, using his skills as a conman to read what lay beneath the surface, he was well aware that within the young man was still a vulnerable child who had hoped and dreamed that at some point this day might come . . . perhaps delivered in a different set of circumstances though.

On the other hand, he had blatantly lied to his son, and had manipulated Cassiopeia into keeping the secret. Oh, his motivation had been his son's welfare at the time, at least that was what he was able to convince Cassiopeia of . . . and himself for a little while. True, Starbuck's resignation from the service would have deprived it of one of the best pilots in Colonial history, something they didn't really need in their current situation, but that was as much cover as truth. Now, how to convince Starbuck of the same?

_Or to just tell him the truth._

He sat down heavily in the chair, relieved that at least Starbuck wasn't telling him to go to Hades Hole and was going to listen. _Your last chance, old man. You had better get it right._ "When the Cylons attacked Umbra, I was in town on business, getting in an order of the latest agro parts, most of which I had already sold to the locals. We had no warning, no local defenses. It was just a little agro community . . . no one expected the attack. To this day, I still don't understand their motives, or how they managed to get through the outer defense perimeter." He still remembered that false sense of security that he and Gabrielle shared; thinking that staying away from the larger centers would be a safer place to raise their son during the ongoing war with the Cylons. It was something he hadn't given any thought to before meeting the beautiful young woman who had stolen his heart and facilitated his change from a professional wagerer to a respectable dealer of agro parts and farm produce, and a father, all in the space of five yahrens. "And, as a result, the community was devastated. Completely destroyed."

Starbuck nodded briefly. It was all a matter of public record. It was one of the worst attacks on Caprica . . . up until the Destruction.

"I was badly injured. The building I was in collapsed, and it took centars . . . precious centars before anyone arrived from the surrounding communities to start searching for survivors. They pulled me out of the rubble the following day and I was transferred to a Life Center in Annulus. It was over a secton later when I finally awoke to find out what had happened."

Starbuck remembered reading in the archives that the surrounding communities had been overwhelmed with survivors, wounded, dying and over a thousand dead. People separated from their families. Outlying relatives trying to locate loved ones. Communications and land routes in and out cut off by the destruction. It was chaos. The rescue effort had gone on for sectons, of course, each day proving less and less likely to recover the living. It was a blow to the morale of the Colonies, and as such, was one of the most newsworthy and media covered events of the deca-yahren. Needless to say, the political fallout was enormous, with many a head rolling.

"The official reports recorded a direct hit on our home. No survivors. I refused to believe it. I couldn't resign myself to . . ." Chameleon wrung his hands as his voice broke. He suddenly realized he was still holding the cloth he had wiped Starbuck's brow with, the moisture wicking through to his trousers. He absently discarded it. And though he was looking at Starbuck, he was seeing beyond him. Going back in his mind to a time he had long since tried to forget. "It took me another secton to get strong enough to be released to go see the evidence for myself. It was horrifying. Everything that your mother and I had built up over five yahrens was gone. And so was she. And . . . I thought that . . . you were gone with her." He gulped in a few deep breaths.

Chameleon would never forget his desperation and anxiety during that secton in the Annulus Life Center, _needing_ to see for himself that his wife, his child—his life really—were truly gone. As soon as he was able to walk safely across a room, his broken bones finally laser mended and his battered body recovered enough to eat and drink, he had discharged himself against medical advice. It had taken a further day to return to Umbra, most of the trip made on foot through the devastated war torn community, wandering in horror as everything that had once looked familiar was now laid to waste. A charred, twisted reminder of what happened when defenses were breached. It was disorientating, and took him a further day to even find what had once been his home.

"You were just a small boy, Starbuck. And rather attached to your mother's skirt at the best of times." A faint smile at how the youngster would always run crying to 'Mama' at the slightest provocation. "It never even occurred to me then that you somehow could have been among the children wandering in the Thorn Forest. The area around our home was ravaged, torn full of gaping holes from the Cylon strafing runs. Not a scrap of vegetation was left. The house itself was leveled, a smoldering, blackened ruin. I . . . I knew there was no way that . . ." He stopped, momentarily unable to continue. He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, suddenly feeling weak in front of his strong son, the Colonial Warrior. "I heard the Cylons used some pluton charges in that attack. God only knows _how_ you survived." Chameleon scratched his face, until then unaware that tears were running down his cheeks at the memories of the most horrific time of his life. He wiped at them absently, drawn back into the moment and again looking at his son.

"Then the . . . traumatic amnesia. The career in . . . genetic tracing?" Starbuck asked, his voice subdued, his eyes downcast as he remembered Chameleon's words in the _Rising__Star_ Chancery of his valiant efforts to find his lost son after finally recovering from the psychological trauma from the loss of his wife.

"Lies," his father admitted. "At least for the most part. Yes, I _was _in a coma for a secton following the strike on Umbra, but what I learned about genetic tracing was through a woman I met many yahrens later. We had a . . . brief relationship until I became . . . restless and moved on. I suppose, through osmosis, I learned enough about genetic tracing from her that it became a part of one of my many aliases later in life."

If possible, Starbuck appeared even more wan and deflated than before as he distractedly twisted his sheet through tightly clenched fingers. But it _had_ to be done this way to make him understand. The harsh truth was, his father was no prize.

----------

Dayton entered Dr. Wilker's lab to find Captain Apollo and Lieutenant Boomer peering over Hummer and Baker's shoulders, staring at a small screen, reminiscent of a portable DVD player. As he drew closer he could see images of Earth—panoramic views from documentaries, dramatic scenes from their collection of movies, entertainment featuring the culture and performers of their time—all put together with a familiar piece of music that he hadn't quite placed before it faded out. He grinned as Apollo and Boomer actually stood there and applauded the others' efforts at the _Journey_ _to Earth_ promotional vid, its official premiere scheduled for that afternoon in the Council Chambers.

"Hey, I missed it. Can you play it again . . . Sam?" Dayton slapped Baker on the shoulder.

"I thought his name was Bob?" Boomer murmured jovially, feeling a bit like a kid in an amusement part after being privy to some of the first sights ever seen of Earth by Colonials.

"A beautiful friendship, either way." Dayton responded, still on cloud nine after Cassiopeia had invited him for dinner.

"It's impressive." Apollo told him with a grin. "This is as good as something the IFB would put together. It's definitely going to make an impression on the Council, not to mention the people of the Fleet. Their first views of Earth. I honestly wondered if I'd live to see the day."

"Here we go," Baker muttered into the Languatron. "Roll 'em!"

_Earth, the final frontier. This is the story of the men of the Space Shuttle Endeavour and their home world. Their original mission: to resupply the International Space Station. Their reality: a journey through an apparent wormhole to a strange new world, learning about new life and new civilizations, boldly going where no Earthman has gone before._

Footage of the Space Shuttle _Endeavour_ launching from Cape Canaveral, with some clever editing from The _Six Million Dollar Man_, and _Apollo 13_, accompanied the ripped-off intro from _Star Trek_, and Dayton covered his smirk with his hand as the familiar music started. Trumpets powerfully set the tone for the start of the vid, and within the first few bars he realized he was listening to the theme music from _Star Wars_.

Still, the Colonials seemed to be impressed, and the strong theme music was actually perfect as the string section took over and he began to recognize images from old movies—_The Ten Commandments, Ben-Hur, Spartacus, Cleopatra, The Sound Of Music, King Solomon's Mines, Conan The Barbarian, Robin Hood, Julius Caesar,_ and, zanily_, What's Up, Doc?_—interspersed with scenes from documentaries, travel shows and TV Series. All together an impressive, entertaining, interesting and intriguing glimpse into Earth, her people, and her culture.

"Bravo!" Dayton added his applause to the others when it concluded. "Great job. Cut and print! I'll feel a little bit better about this Council meeting having something to 'wow' them with first."

"Oh?" Apollo asked. "Are you feeling nervous about the meeting, Commander?"

"Well, as Groucho Marx used to say, 'Politics is the art of looking for trouble, finding it everywhere, diagnosing it incorrectly and applying the wrong remedies.' So, in a word, no. I'm not looking forward to it, Captain." Dayton replied ruefully, Starbuck's recent pep talk about running for office himself adding to the mix.

"He sounds like a wise man." Apollo mused. "One of your leaders?"

Dayton smiled. "If only! We might have had fewer problems. A comedian actually. But they say it's only funny if it's true."

"Starbuck asked me to escort you and your men to the meeting, Commander Dayton." Apollo added.

"The booby prize, eh, Captain?" Dayton grinned, watching as both warriors and the technician appeared stricken at the Languatron's interpretation of 'a woman's breast offered as a reward for superiority'. "Heh heh. I knew that would be a good one!" He slapped Baker on the back as they both watched the three men considering them in horror.

"It's actually more like 'last prize', Captain," Baker assured the warrior, shaking his head at the Commander who was displaying some unusually Ryan-like tendencies. Something had certainly cheered his Commander. He wondered if it had legs . . . or was ethanol based.

"Oh," Apollo nodded at Hummer who began making adjustments on the translator . . . again. "Commander, do you think you'd have another opportunity to get into Fausto's officer?"

"I imagine so." Dayton replied with a nod. "He seemed interested in a couple racket sports I mentioned. I'm sure he'll want more details. Why?" Again the puzzled faces. "Racket-it's an Earth slang term for a deceptive, usually illegal scheme or operation. For separating people from their money. Like the sort this Fausto creep is pulling." They nodded, but still appeared confused.

"And this is . . . a _sport_ on Earth?" Boomer asked quizzically.

Dayton chuckled. "Ah, I see. Sorry. Our language is lousy with more than one meaning for certain words. A racket can also be a . . . frame that is strung with . . . uh . . . catgut . . . " They looked baffled and horrified once again, and he knew what they were thinking_. Lordy, lordy, lordy Miss Clawdie, what those guys on Earth do to their pets!_ "Uh, yeah, well . . . catgut is a thread made from the intestines of sheep . . . ovines . . . " They nodded as if a light, albeit more of a _nightlight_, had just gone on. "Anyhow, the taut, yet flexible nature of the . . . string makes it great for hitting a ball . . . and we have a few sports that implement a ball and racket." He sighed in relief at their look of comprehension, but almost felt the need to light up a cigarette and take five. "Now, why do I need to get back into Fausto's office, Captain?"

"Reece and I met with Sire Dracus. He was quite up front about Fausto approaching him and trying to blackmail him. He swore that he's turned Guidobaldo away each time he's come calling. Starbuck mentioned the possibility that Fausto is trying to set Dracus up since the Councilman is openly trying to enact regulations to do away with legal and open sports betting, shutting down Fausto's legitimate operations. They're the only cover he has for his crooked ones, and if the measure went through, he'd be ruined. We thought if we could plant a transceiver in there, we might learn something."

"Actually, Apollo, the way Fausto operates, I wouldn't put it past him to try and terminate Dracus as well. He certainly hasn't had any qualms about removing anyone from the quotient whose been in his way so far." Boomer posed.

"Well, so far the people that have been killed aren't quite as renowned as a Member of the Council of Twelve. That might just be an advantage in this case. I'm wondering if Fausto has realized that if he can't use the information he has on Sire Dracus to blackmail him, then perhaps he can use it to go ahead and discredit him."

"What exactly is Sire Dracus responsible for?" Dayton asked. "Politically, I mean."

"Mainly social services," Boomer replied. "But he has a reputation for getting on his high equine about moral issues, such as legalized gambling and drinking, that other bureauticians long ago accepted as being part of today's society. In some ways, he's almost a throwback to an earlier time."

"What kind of man is he?" asked Baker. "I don't mean his social position. The real man, himself."

"He has high personal standards, according to Commander Adama," Apollo told the Earthman. "He's highly intelligent, extremely well educated, a devout Kobolian, a famed and very liberal humanitarian. He once undertook the reconstruction of a whole town destroyed in a Cylon raid and the resettlement of the survivors entirely out of his own resources. He lives an abstemious way of life. In fact, he's very critical of any hedonistic ways. He definitely balances the Sire Uri's and Feo's in that lot."

"Pretty self-indulgent?" asked Baker again. "This Uri and Feo?"

"Very."

"Almost surprising then, that long sword collection that Starbuck mentioned," Boomer pointed out.

"I gathered it takes him back to a different era, when times were simpler." Apollo shrugged. "I tuned into the IFB earlier, and he actually made a public apology to Starbuck for any defamation of character he might have caused. He was singing our Lieutenant's praises before the Fleet, admitting he was wrong, in light of the triad scandal being exposed."

"By the way, did you hear anything about Sire Regus' post-mortem? Did he have a heart attack or not?" Dayton asked the Captain.

"Apparently so, according to Dr. Paye. His cardiac enzymes were 'appropriately elevated'. But he died as a result of bisecting his aorta with that blade. So it looks like taking Starbuck with him was probably exactly what Luana said it was, a last desperate attempt once he realized that he only had moments to live, to remove Starbuck from any chance at the Empyrean throne."

"That's a twisted ideology, if you ask me," Boomer inserted, shaking his head at the seemingly dichotomous values of Ama and Regus, both Empyrean. "And anyone who knows Starbuck knows he would assume their throne like Baltar would be canonized as a saint." He shook his head again. "What about Regus' son, Rogane? Any results on his post-mortem?"

"Yes," the captain nodded. "Just as we thought. A lethal amount of Elysium, with various other low levels toxins that it was likely cut with. Dr. Paye wasn't sure if it was the Elysium or the combination of toxic additives that actually killed him though."

"And the cause of death was recorded as what?" Dayton asked.

"Probable overdose." Apollo replied dourly. "He was a known user, after all."

"And Guidobaldo?" Boomer added. "Did Security question him about being seen with Rogane on the Maxidex?" The last he had heard, that was Reece's next stop.

"No. They haven't found him yet." Apollo replied. "He's conveniently disappeared. At least for now."

Boomer sighed, nodding. "So is Security still covering the Life Station?"

"Yeah. For now," the Strike Captain agreed. "Frankly, until Starbuck is safely on his feet again . . . " He shrugged off that feeling he had that they were missing something here.

"I'm all for it, buddy." Boomer slapped a hand on his shoulder. "Especially with Guidobaldo at large."

"Exactly." Apollo added grimly. "Hummer, why don't you show Commander Dayton how the transceiver works."

"Yes, sir." The tech reached across his bench, and pulled a small circuit from a box. He held it up for all to see.

About the size of a thumbnail, it looked incredibly complicated to Dayton. He wasn't even certain he recognized the components packed tightly on the tiny circuit board.

"Alright," said Hummer, "this little beauty here is a miniature remote activated transceiver, with random frequency shuffling. It can pick up both audio and video data from an area nearly the size of the bridge."

"Ah. A bug," said Dayton. He saw brow after brow furrow in confusion, and this time simply waved it off. "Later. Go on."

"Uhhh . . . yes," said Hummer, wondering if the Languatron was _ever_ going to get a handle on this language. "Place this anywhere within Fausto's suite aboard the _Rising Star_, and we can see and hear what's going on."

"Pardon me for what must seem like a dumb question," said Baker, "but how can it acquire video? Sound I get, but unless it's pointed at you . . ." He trailed off, as an image popped up above the holo-reader. It was a clear, three-dimensional image of them all, gathered around the bench. The Earthmen leaned close, clearly amazed at the site before them as Hummer continued his lesson.

"It utilizes a scanner system not unlike that which we use for deep structural and metalurgical scans, allowing us to see through solid objects. By modulating the scanner wavelons in the emitter diode array, we can get passably decent imaging."

"Lord, it's kind of like the new medical scanners they were just introducing back home," said Dayton.

"There are similarities with medical technologies, yes," said Hummer. "But to be really effective, the subjects must be within, say, four or five metrons to see anything."

"And the sound?"

Hummer adjusted a control, and picked up a microwelder from the bench. He lightly scraped it across the top of the bench, and a deafening roar erupted from the speaker.

"Okay," said Dayton, "works for me. But, how do we get this little honey to where it will do the most good. From what I saw of this Fausto creep, he isn't the trusting type."

"When you were in his suite, what did you see in the way of security?" asked Boomer.

"His thugs were never far away," replied Dayton. "One of them, a big, bald hulk, never took his eyes off of me once he showed up. And one of the others kept moving around, with something in his hand that looked kind of like this thing," he indicated the Languatron, "pointing it every which way." It looked vastly different than the one Starbuck had given them for checking their quarters on the _Rising Star_, much more crude and cumbersome. "I think he was sweeping the joint for bugs."

_Brushing the junction of two bones for insectons? _Boomer shook his head.

"What will prevent him from detecting this thing?" asked Baker, indicating the device.

"Several things," said Hummer, with a note of pride. "First of all, it sounds like their detector isn't as sophisticated as what we're using. It's probably the TD 150. Kind of like the old Starfighters in comparison to our Vipers. With this little baby," he held it up, "the memory chip stores up to two centars of data before transmitting it. Then, it downloads it to us in a burst transmission lasting no more than a quarter micron. During that transmission, it randomly shifts transmitting freqs up to twenty times. Anyone trying to detect it, once hidden, would have to be practically right on top of it when it's active."

"What freqs?" asked Apollo.

"I've modified the circuit to transmit on frequencies only used by the Cylons, Captain," replied Hummer. "If a Cylon's vocal synthesizer is damaged, they can switch to a non-vocal system to communicate. No one monitors those freqs here, and we will pick it up through the good offices of Centurion Anthrax over there, relayed here via the _Rising Star_'s auxiliary antenna array." He pointed at the cybernaut, sitting motionless in a corner.

"And while it's in scan mode?" asked Boomer. "What then?"

"When in scan mode, should it detect any sort of sweep or scan, it will shut down until its passive sensors tell it the scan has passed out of range," replied Hummer. "Not perfect, but you can only pack so much into this small a package. Any idea how often Fausto has his suite checked out?"

"I have no idea," said Dayton, his attention diverted by the captured and apparently rewired Centurion, having now seen it for the second time. It reminded him of a bulkier chromed Imperial Storm Trooper from Star Wars, only this was real life. There were a limitless amount of these things hunting for these people intent on their destruction. _And now you're one of them, pal. _ He looked back at Hummer, adding, "But for a sharp operator like him, I'd wager it's often. Every few days, at the least."

"Hopefully that'll be enough," said Apollo. "How do we get it inside and hidden?"

"I have an idea," said Dayton, reaching inside his tunic. _God, it feels so weird to have real clothes, again! _He pulled out a small round object, held in a circle on a chain. He slipped the chain off, and held the object out to Apollo.

"What's this?" he asked, taking the proffered object. It fit perfectly in the palm of his hand, was round, and made of some kind of stamped metal. On one side was a portrait of a man's head, surrounded by lettering. _L-I-B-E-R-T-Y. _Below were more letters, _I-N G-O-D W-E T-R-U-S-T, _and what he recognized from his studies so far as numbers; _1 9 7 1. _On the opposite side was the image of some sort of bird, with a bundle of arrows in one talon, and some kind of plant branch in the other. More lettering surrounded the image, and emblazoned a banner held in the bird's beak.

"An American half-dollar coin," replied Dayton. He briefly explained the coin. "An uncle who worked at the mint gave each of us a half-dollar as a good luck charm, from the same year . . .uh, yahren, we were born. The pirates didn't seem interested, so I managed to keep it."

"And your idea?" asked Apollo.

"Well," he said, as he popped the old John F. Kennedy coin out of its frame, "how about planting the bug inside here? Can you do it?"

"Slice it in half," Hummer muttered, half to himself, "hollow it out, slip the transceiver in. Very good. Let me have look." Hummer rose, and took the coin to another bench. After a quick scan, he mounted it in a frame, and with a very fine laser, sliced it in half along its length, and examined the inner surfaces with a high-powered lens.

"Can you do it?" asked Boomer.

"I think so. It'll be a tight fit, sir. I'll have to scrape it out almost to the surface, but she'll fit." He put the lens down. "Then, once she's sealed up again, we put the coin back in its frame, and no one will know."

"How will you plant it there?" asked Apollo. "He's bound to eventually find it, and . . ."

"I noticed a set of coins," said Dayton. "Displayed on a rack near his desk. We discussed it briefly. He's an avid collector, as I was once, and I showed him my old half-dollar. He offered to buy it, very taken with it being from Earth and all, but I said no. After all, it's one of the few things I have left from home, and it's not made of precious metal. Sadly, we don't use silver in our coinage anymore. But he offered me a hundred . . . what do you call them, uh, cubits, for it. I think I've changed my mind, and I'll sell."

"And with the bug right there in his office, we'll have a ringside seat," said Baker.

"Roger, Houston," smiled Dayton, looking at his old comrade.

"I thought his name was Bob," deadpanned Hummer to the others.

"I can tell you right now that Starbuck isn't going to like it." Apollo sighed. "He doesn't want you guys being associated with this plan in any way. He doesn't want to put you at risk. And Commander Adama won't like it either."

"Hey, what Café au Lait doesn't know, won't hurt him." Dayton insisted. "We owe Starbuck. This is the least I can do to help out, and unless there's something you haven't told me, this is _my_ decision to make. I'm still my own man. Besides, if everything goes to plan, Fausto will be behind bars and out of the picture anyhow." After everything that Starbuck had tried to do for him and his men, despite their differences, he was damned well going to return the favour.

Apollo nodded towards Baker. "What implicates you, Commander Dayton, implicates the others by association."

"I'm with Dayton," Baker averred through the Languatron, with grim determination. "And I know for a fact that the others would agree. If we can do something to help, then let us do it. This should be our call, _not_ Starbuck's, and _not_ your Commander's."

"Boomer?" Apollo asked.

He sighed. "I honestly can't think of a better option. But . . . we have to tell Starbuck. Remember what happened last time we went behind his back with that security check on Chameleon." The lieutenant would never forget Starbuck's anger and disbelief over him and Apollo investigating his . . . _father's _ background so many sectars ago. It had made him realize how important it was to his friend, finding a link to his unknown roots. So when Starbuck had shrugged off the entire incident in the Commander's office later by saying, 'I'm a little old to start breaking in a father now', he was well aware it was an example of Starbuck's infamous smokescreen at its finest, and he wasn't fooled for a micron.

"Agreed." Apollo nodded. "I'll tell him."

"Fine, but I hope we're not waiting for his _permission_ here. This is a perfect opportunity to find out what you need to know." Dayton inserted, not understanding the reference, but musing that the entire Starbuck/Chameleon history would be a story worth hearing at some point.

Over a few of those Empyrean Ales.

----------

"You didn't . . . even _try_ to look for me?" Starbuck could barely get the words out. Hades, going back as far as he could remember he had spent yahrens imagining his parents scouring each and every orphanage, foster home, detention center, or homeless shelter—always dependent on his current situation, of course—searching for him. He had spent even more time imagining an ecstatic reunion, the scene changing throughout the yahrens. It had never even occurred to him that his family could so easily and dismissively accept him as being . . . dead.

Chameleon winced. "I thought you were both killed. There was nothing left, Starbuck. Nothing."

All conscious memory of that period in Umbra was lost to Starbuck, and had been since he was a child. Thinking back, the traumatic amnesiac that Chameleon had first claimed to be on the _Rising Star_, was in all probability what his son _actually_ was. _ Of course, the other children tended to use less charitable words for it in the orphanage. _And even now, sometimes in the dead of night, fleeting images would come back to haunt the warrior in his sleep. The fear. The noise. The heat. The stench. The screams. The all-consuming need to find his mother. Well over twenty yahrens later he would still awaken drenched in sweat, his heart pounding, and his terror still as vivid as when he was a child.

"Then when I met you on the _Rising Star_, I had already seen your _Warrior of the Centar_ interview on the IFB. The coincidence was . . . providential."

Though he felt increasingly numb, the warrior was still able to mumble, "Yeah. You told me. You just needed to get off the _Rising Star_. Away from those Nomen."

Starbuck still remembered those following centars on the _Galactica_ as being almost magical. The more he had learned about Chameleon, the more certain he had become that they were indeed father and son. He had thought that it was only a matter of time until the fact would be confirmed and a whole new world would open up to him. Lords, he had been on top of the world, and he wasn't planning on coming down until he had celebrated a lifetime worth of natal days, Father's days, and Winter Solstice Festivals. Not even Apollo and Boomer's attempt to caution him had made an impact. Instead, he had declared their friendship over, angrily pointing out Apollo's, in particular, inherent inability to trust anyone or anything except himself.

Then later, after being attacked by the Borellian Nomen in the _Galactica_'s launch bay, and Chameleon admitting that he was in fact impersonating Captain Dimitri of the Livestock Ship, the old conman had come clean with Starbuck about all the details. At the time, it had been a blow to the young man, but something he had quickly worked through. Though truthfully it almost had as much to do with saving face in front of his friends and the Commander as it did his well-known nonchalance coming to his rescue. As disappointing as it was, he had understood that Chameleon—who he had honestly become quite attached to—was simply doing what he had to do to survive. Much like the rest of them. _Much like a certain kid from the streets of Caprica City, once upon a time_. Besides, how could he grieve over what he never really had? At least that's what he kept telling himself.

"Well, what I didn't tell you, Starbuck, was that the more time I spent with you, the more I thought that if my son had survived to maturity, that I hoped he would have turned out to be half the man that you were." Chameleon leaned forward, with voice rich with sincerity. "You have to understand that I was playing the odds, and they were next to nothing. I _truly_ thought my son was gone. But every time you began to open up to me. . . or point out the similarities in our nature . . . the more I realized how . . . how _hurt_ you were going to be when you found out we _weren't_ father and son." He sighed. "I guess you . . . introduced me to my conscience."

Starbuck could feel a tightness engulf his throat as a voice inside him cried out, _but I knew that you were my father! I just knew it_. He swallowed it down and instead asked, "Then why wouldn't you . . . ?" His voice broke and he sucked in a breath, lowering his head and raking his hands through his hair.

Chameleon shook his head, wiping at eyes that were once again filling with moisture. "Please let me finish, Starbuck. After you told me in the launch bay that you were going to resign from the Service to get to know me, I couldn't believe that you were willing to sacrifice everything you knew and loved for a . . . a despicable old conman who was leading you down the garden path. You wanted so . . . desperately to find your father. To find out who you were. I knew I couldn't let it go any further. I had to tell you the truth, and I was going to . . ." His voice was but a whisper as he added, "_that_ was when the Nomen arrived."

Lords, up until then it had been one of the most incredible rides of Starbuck's life. His expectations were built up so high, you couldn't have reached them without an ion propulsion system. His instinct had practically _screamed_ that Chameleon was his father. If he could have put cubits on it, he would have bet everything he had. And, as the old man had said, he had been considering giving up everything . . . to recover those lost yahrens and find out who he was and where he had come from.

_What a fracking idiot._

Then Starbuck's house of cards had come crashing down around him. Boomer and Apollo arriving on the scene, Apollo looking at him sadly, and then looking beyond him to Chameleon. Chameleon admitting that he was "Captain Dimitri". And then the whole sordid tale unfolding.

"So you have to understand that when Cassiopeia found me and told me the results were actually positive, I was . . . flabbergasted. All I could think of was what I had already put you through. You're a war hero, son, a respected officer. A man of courage and honour. Look what you've made of your life. What you contribute to what remains of our society as a Colonial Warrior on a daily basis. Me? I'm just a two-cubit crook. A wagerer and conman who's never played straight for five centons in his whole life. Other than those precious yahrens I spent with you and your mother so long ago, I've never done an honest or respectable thing in my life. And you were willing to throw away all that you had known, all that you had accomplished, all that you mean to our people . . . it was just . . . _wrong_." His wavering voice again broke with the intensity of his feeling. "I just couldn't be a party to that."

_Wrong_.

The word, thick with emotion, echoed through Starbuck's mind. As much as he could somewhat understand Chameleon's motivations, he couldn't help feeling betrayed. Rejected. _Hey, it's not like it's the first time. _He closed his eyes, his chest tight with anguish. He didn't dare speak. He couldn't.

"The ridiculous thing was . . . I thought I could have it both ways, Starbuck. When you told me that you had grown . . . attached . . . Lords, it was like a precious gift from God above. I thought we could _still_ get to know each other, become friends, and you wouldn't ever have to find out what an abysmal failure as a man your own father really was." He sighed wistfully. "Oh, how I wish I could have been the kind of father that a man like you deserved, Starbuck. Another Adama perhaps. Or a Cain." He shook his head. "Old fool."

Starbuck's eyes were clenched tightly, stinging with unshed tears. He felt that he would break into a million pieces if anyone laid a hand on him at that moment. He couldn't even look at Chameleon. He knew the merest sight of the regretful old man would make him melt down. _Frack_. _Get it together, Bucko. You might not know where you came from, but you damn well know who you are. _He took a deep breath, feeling it escape raggedly. So he took another.

And let it out.

"I _never_ said that I expected you to be . . . Adama." Starbuck paused, again wringing the sheet with his hands. "I gave up creating my father in the image of a hero . . . or a great warrior . . . or some exiled member of Royalty . . . almost twenty yahrens ago." He sniffed self-deprecatingly at his childhood memory of 'Prince Starbuck' arriving home on his regal stallion, before finally meeting his father's eyes again. "I just wanted to know . . . where I came from. Who my people were. That I _belonged_ somewhere." He cleared his throat, squaring his shoulders before he continued.

"What's '_wrong_', Chameleon, is you didn't . . . you didn't give me the chance to decide for myself." Starbuck's voice gained strength as simmering anger began to replace pain. "Knowing at that point that it was all a just a _ploy_ to get away from the Borellian Nomen, somehow I just don't picture myself leaving the Service to . . ." His tone was acerbic as he continued, "follow in your footsteps. But you didn't think about _that_, did you?"

Chameleon's eyes closed, his shoulders slumped, and he hung his head dejectedly, shaking his head in mute reply at his son's words of truth. Every yahren he had lived showed in his bearing. He didn't deny a thing. It was Starbuck's turn to speak.

"Do you know what I think?" Starbuck continued, his breathing uneven as a slow burn ignited into the temper he was known for and he lashed out against his father. "I think you've spent so many yahrens not caring about anyone except _yourself_, that it was just easier to lie to me. You were scared to have someone in your life that wasn't just serving the purpose of your latest scam. No commitments, no expectations . . ."

His rebuke abruptly died on his lips, his ragged breathing was the only audible sound from him, as _Luana's_ words came back to haunt him from the triad court. _No commitments, no expectations, no kiss and tell._ Words that she had thought _he_ needed to hear before he would get involved in a relationship with her.

She was right.

Starbuck closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the obvious, the glaring truth snapping him out of his tirade more effectively than a slap across the face. . . the sting much the same. He sniffed self-derisively, as the well-known phrase ran through his mind so poignantly; _like father like son_.

How many times had he blown off relationships for what amounted to basically the same reasoning? _Ask Athena, she could tell you, Bucko._ He shook his head. There was a long list of women he had loved and left, or had just let slip out of his life, especially when things began to look _serious_. Hades, the only permanent fixture in his life for over a deca-yahren was Apollo. Then again, he didn't need to worry about _sealing_ with Apollo.

"Just like me," he said quietly, opening his eyes, and looking at Chameleon. The old conman looked at him nervously, probably wondering what was going through his head, and if he was just gearing up for a further blast of condemnation. "Well, at least I know I . . . come by it honestly." He sniffed at the ironyof that phrase in relation to his father.

"I'm not sure . . . I understand," Chameleon replied, studying his son, trying to read his mood.

Starbuck sighed, again raking his hands through his hair and closing his eyes. "Me neither."

Sagan, he felt tired and sore. Like someone had stabbed him in the . . . _oh, yeah_. More than anything else he just wanted to be alone. Oh, to be able to pull the covers up over his head and make the world disappear for a few precious centars of peace.

"Son?" Chameleon tried to draw him out.

"I need to . . . wrap my brain around this," Starbuck told him quietly.

It was a far cry from what he had ever expected. Instead of joyous, he felt strangely empty. Instead of throwing his arms around his father, he wanted to be left alone. Instead of storming the bridge to announce over the Unicom that he had found his family, he'd just as soon keep it to himself . . . at least for the moment.

"Can I . . . come and see you tomorrow?" Chameleon asked tentatively, his brow knit in concern.

Starbuck nodded slowly. "Yeah."

The old man's hand briefly covered his own and it startled the warrior for a moment as he looked down in surprise. Slightly mottled, veins distended, flesh wrinkled. He looked up into the equally lined face that was filled with sadness and regret.

"I'm sorry, Starbuck." The conman's lips tightened and he shook his head as he turned to leave.

"Chameleon." He touched his father's sleeve, unexpectedly reluctant to let him go. Almost wondering if, indeed, he _would_ return . . .

The conman smiled knowingly, as he turned back. "I won't run out on you again, son." He leaned down over the biobed and gripped the young man's shoulders, then tentatively put his arms around his son for the first time since Starbuck was a child. Chameleon sniffed loudly, choking back the rising tide of emotion, his voice shaky. "I . . . I promise."

"I'll hold you to that," Starbuck rasped, leaning into the embrace, patting the old man's back awkwardly, and blinking back tears once again. _Father._


	80. Chapter 80

Luana had watched from a distance as Starbuck's friend, Chameleon, had kept his own silent vigil over her man by his biobed in the Life Station. She just had a feeling that for some reason she should leave them alone, and so she had stayed on the periphery doing her therapy and keeping her own silent watch. Call it a sixth sense, or women's intuition, but sometimes listening to one's 'gut feeling', as Starbuck often called it, paid off. This appeared to be one of those times.

As Chameleon disappeared through the door of the Life Station, she took careful and determined steps towards Starbuck, moving cautiously on the damp swath of floor as the sanitary technician polished it to Life Station standards. She had refused to carry on using the walking aide that Med Tech Tone had recommended. As she saw it, the more dependent she became on the mobility aides, the less likely she would be to get beyond them quickly, and get _out _of the Life Station. She had every intention of meeting up with Kale in the Fitness Center and starting a retraining program. Lords, she was beginning to feel like a piece of medical equipment herself, she had been there so fracking long. Days on end.

Starbuck's eyes were still trained on the hatch that Chameleon had disappeared through. He was completely distracted by his thoughts, and hadn't even noticed her presence though she was standing right beside him. _Not exactly great for a gal's ego, especially while wearing the fetching gown with the rear trapdoor that he seemed to like so much the day before._

Sadness was etched on his features, and it tore at her heart. Seldom did she see him with his emotions on his sleeve, even less so with his guard down. Somehow, Chameleon had struck a cord with him that few others could, leaving him appearing uncharacteristically vulnerable. A soft sigh escaped him and he rubbed his face wearily.

"If you get any more lost in thought, I'll have to send in a search party," she murmured to him, leaning down to lightly brush a kiss over his lips. "Or Commander Adama will launch a patrol."

He smiled slightly, but she noticed it lacked the usual luster that could routinely take her from a normal sinus rhythm to palpitations in three point two milli-centons. "So what was that all about?" she asked, nodding towards the exit.

Starbuck sighed, pushing himself upward in the bed and getting more comfortable. "Seems that . . . Chameleon is my . . . father."

"For real?" Luana asked, shaking her head and trying to remember all the fleeting information she had collected about Starbuck's childhood since she had known him. Not a lot.

"Yeah." He nodded slowly, as if he still didn't quite believe it himself. His gaze again rested on the Life Station door.

"Isn't that . . . _good_ news?" she asked carefully, wanting to be happy for him, but not missing the fact that he wasn't exactly elated.

"It's kind of . . . _complicated_." He replied after a moment, looking up at her.

"Well, I know I've had a head injury, but if you talk slowly, I think I can keep up." She reached down and smoothed the hair back from his brow, smiling gently.

"Very funny," his smile looked a bit more heartfelt this time. He slowly raised one hand, taking hold of hers.

"Talk to me, Starbuck. It might help."

He nodded, suspecting she might be right, he simply wasn't sure what to say.

----------

"Firstly, ladies and gentlemen, I want to thank you for welcoming us into your society. As you might, or might not, be able to imagine, after thirty yahrens of . . ." Dayton paused from where he stood as he looked at the ladies present. " . . . _mistreatment_ at the hands of pirates, we really didn't know exactly what to expect of your people. We could only hope that the nature of your society as a whole was reflective of the character of your officers; Captain Dorado and Lieutenant Rooke of the Battlestar _Pegasus_, and Lieutenant Starbuck of the _Galactica_. They are all fine men, and represent you well."

Dayton smiled slightly while addressing the politicians, pleased that the _Journey to Earth_ presentation had impressed the Council of Twelve. He couldn't help but recall the time he had had to testify before a Senate Committee, about the need for additional funding for NASA, and the ISS, an ongoing battle. He tried to dredge up everything he had learned then about dealing with politicians. As for these politicians, they were all looking pleasantly surprised that they had not yet required the services of their languatrons, and he knew the advantage that lay in speaking their tongue, making him and his men seem like long lost brothers of the Colonies, instead of displaced refugees or poor country cousins from another solar system of which they knew nothing, save vague, ancient legends.

"It's surprising, yet also inspiring, to have since discovered that they are so many similarities between our societies," Dayton continued, looking around at the Council Members. Commander Adama and Sire Dracus were the only two he had recognized when he had entered the chambers, and Dracus only from his recent IFB appearance, but he had gathered from the corpulence of another one that he was Sire Feo. This was confirmed as they were all formally introduced by their president, Commander Adama. "How alike we are is almost surprising especially since we're from different solar systems. I can only muse, after speaking with Commander Adama and Doctor Wilker, that your Thirteenth Tribe had a profound effect on Earth, influencing her in architectural directions that you will have seen in our _Journey to Earth_ presentation. In particular I find it astounding that the pyramids on your mother planet, Kobol, appear almost identical, in volume, dimensions, and arrangement, to Earth's most renowned pyramids in a country called Egypt. The Egyptians had one of the oldest, and the most enduring, civilizations in all of our recorded history. Over five thousand of our yahrens. In fact, it even continued in my day, in a highly attenuated form. And as part of our basic education, we studied Egyptian history much as your own children study Kobolian, for the impact it had on our world."

They were hanging on his words. Every one of them. Sire Feo seemed rapt, his mouth hanging open, which, Dayton had heard from several others, was a rarity when he wasn't shoveling something into it. Even his own men had their eyes glued to him. Adama was leaning forward with an eager glint in his eyes that conveyed he would be content to spend long evenings in the NASA Commander's company comparing such similarities in history.

"And even in a language base that is so vastly different from our own, there are names that you routinely use that are common, even renowned, in Earth's history. Adama is so close to our _Adam, _believed by some to have been the first of our race." He spared a glance over at Ryan, whose face was skeptically twisted as he knew it would be. "And then there's Cain, Adam's son. Both can be found in our _Holy Bible_, which would be the equivalent of your _Book of the Word_, at least in the Christian doctrine. Apollo, Athena, Cassiopeia and Pegasus are all mythological figures in another of our ancient civilizations, that of the Greeks, which had as extensive an influence on the culture, arts and literature on my civilization as that of the Egyptians. Starbuck is not only a character in literature, but also the name of a town, as well as a successful . . . _java-_making business that stormed its way into our culture like a force of nature . . . much like your lieutenant." He waited, as a titter of laughter spread around the room and he could see an appreciative grin on the faces of Apollo and Boomer as they stood by in the lower level of the Council chamber. "Sheba was the name of a wealthy and powerful empire in ancient times. The names of your Colonies are almost identical to those of the constellations, visible in our solar system which represent the _zodiac_, the band of sky that our sun, moon and planets move through in the course of an Earth year, close to one of your yahrens. It was the basis for one of the earliest attempts made by my distant ancestors to devise a calendar. Even in your enemy, the Cylons, I can recall an identically named Athenian nobleman and athlete who attempted a coup in ancient Greek history."

_Hell_, they were sitting on the edge of their seats. It was easy to tell which ones were behind Adama and his journey to Earth, for their faces were alit with fascination and exuberance. In contrast, there were almost as many others who appeared concerned, or disturbed by his words.

"Commander Dayton, while the similarities that you so intriguingly identify are . . . mildly interesting, what the Council is really wondering is how far away _is_ Earth . . ." Sire Feo began.

"I am sorry that we cannot provide you with that information." Dayton shrugged as the Council Member scowled at being interrupted. The Earth Commander smiled ever so slightly, and then continued. "The . . . catastrophe that sent us across the galaxy was a freak occurrence, and our ship's computers and data recorders were long ago stripped and cannibalized by the pirates who enslaved us. Nothing remains that could answer your question, sir. The distance to my home world is unknown."

"I see," answered Feo, still scowling. "And what of her technology, Commander Dayton? Will Earth accept us, and will she be able to assist us in our plight against the Cylon Empire?" He managed to sound both polite and condescending simultaneously.

"Ah, so you agree with Commander Adama's assessment that the Cylons are still a threat to your people, Sire Feo?" Dayton riposted, answering a question with a question. He watched Feo's eyes narrow with suspicion as Adama's brow rose with surprise, the first man unprepared for any verbal sparring from the Earth bumpkin and the other unprepared for a show of support for his long-standing position. "I had understood that a few of your honourable members were of the opinion that you had left the Cylons behind for good."

"You are well informed, Commander Dayton, for a man who has only been in the Fleet for a few short days," Siress Tinia remarked, a faint smile on her features.

"Well, Siress Tinia, I've been spending a lot of time reviewing your archives and watching the IFB. Media is often a fairly accurate glimpse into the realities of a society. Then again, Mark Twain, a famous American writer once said, "If you don't read the newspaper, you are uninformed; if you do read the newspaper, you are _mis_informed." Dayton looked back to Feo as they digested his words with some technical assistance. "You were saying, Sire Feo?"

"Whether I believe the Cylons are still a risk is really inconsequential to the matter at hand, Commander Dayton. What we are attempting to ascertain is whether or not Earth is a viable alternative to the more widely preferred option of settlement elsewhere," Feo elucidated, brushing his hand over the gold brocade on the sleeve of his robe. Next to him, Sire Domra nodded in agreement.

"Well, as an _Earthman_, the potential onslaught of an Empire bent on the total extermination of mankind arriving on my back doorstep is not only consequential, Sire Feo, it's critical," Dayton replied, unable to prevent his voice from rising. _Lord, these bottom-feeders are all alike!_ "You seem to be of the opinion that it is your God-given right to decide whether or not _you_ will go to Earth," he couldn't help but look at Adama, "but I'm here to tell you that you're wrong. Dead wrong. If you don't take care of your enemies _before_ you reach Earth, then, frankly, Scarlett, you're not welcome."

"Commander Dayton, I believe this Council understands that it's not only in _Earth's_ best interests to ensure that we don't lead a Cylon taskforce to your planet, but also our own," Commander Adama assured him. He nodded towards Dayton. "The Commander has already explained to me that he has difficulty believing his world is technologically advanced enough to defend itself against a force as powerful as the Cylons. It certainly was not, when he and his crew launched in their vessel. However, their apparent trip through a wormhole leaves us wondering if Earth could—in our space-time continuum—be yahrens ahead . . . or behind _his_ time." He thought back to their discussion of the Ship of Lights Beings, and how the Earthman now believed he had a role to play in their journey. And also that he considered himself Earth's self-appointed protector.

"Perhaps that is one more reason to opt for settlement," Sire Domra added. "I imagine you'd support that option, Commander Dayton."

_Just like I figured. Had you pegged, Buster. Just like that Feo creep._

"Actually, I _support _the idea of your people finding Earth, Sire Domra. I support it fully. I'm extremely interested in getting home, just like my fellow Earthmen. I just insist that you be responsible enough to eradicate your enemies _before_ you get there." He stopped a moment, choosing his next words carefully. "From what I have seen, these Cylons are like wild predatory animals. Their minds are capable of only one thing. Catching their prey. Destroying them. To them, you are like the prey that escaped, after they sunk their teeth into you and developed a taste. They are hungry for more. And you were wounded. Hurt. Trailing blood even. And like the shark, a fearsome predator of my world, once blood has been scented, they never, _ever_, give up. Even if you were to find a planet to settle upon, a planet abundantly blessed with everything you could possibly need to rebuild your civilization, they would eventually find you. It is like stopping to rest, with a ravening carnivore chasing you. It would be a death sentence. From what I have seen, they have God knows how many of those hideous Base Ships out looking for you. And like the hunters in the wilds, it would be equally foolish to allow such an enemy to trail you back to your camp. Were they to find your new haven, they could wait, massing their Base Ships until you are overwhelmed and obliterated. If our very species is to survive, ladies and gentleman, the Cylons must, I repeat, _MUST_ be destroyed!"

A moment of silence ensued, most Council Members looking at Adama who had tirelessly debated any thoughts of settlement for sectars. Adama, for his part, sat with his chin in his hand, appearing only thoughtful. Not a hint of satisfaction crossed his features, though he was reveling in this slightly unexpected support of his position. Honestly, he hadn't known what Commander Dayton would say. He only knew it would have an resounding impact.

Adama cleared his throat, and stood, waiting for a micron for Commander Dayton to be seated. "If the honourable members would take a look now at Captain Dorado's final report, it should be available on your datapads." Adama motioned to his own. "You'll see that while we have been blessed with little in the way of Cylon contact these many sectars, that it is now confirmed to be clearly because the _Pegasus_ has been intervening on our behalf. You'll see a full report on their frequency of attacks and engagements as estimated by Captain Dorado that should leave you with no doubt that the Cylons pose as much of a threat as they have always done. Settlement is not an option."

"Well, that _settles_ that matter." Sire Anton smiled.

"Right." Dayton nodded at Adama. "That said, it seems the choices are limited. You can't stop with the Cylons in pursuit, and you're not welcome on Earth unless you can destroy them."

"And just how would you propose we go about doing that? Destroying the Cylons." asked Sire Dracus.

"Well, I don't _exactly_ have a plan, Sire, but . . . now that it has been confirmed that the Battlestar _Pegasus_ is out there somewhere guarding your flank, I think you just might have the resources to do it."

"And I believe that when we find Commander Cain, that he _will_ have a plan." Adama added, knowing the Juggernaut would have at _least_ one trick up his sleeve, not to mention a concise idea of the current strength and position of their enemy in this quadrant. Cain would be astounded and invigorated when his old compatriot suddenly supported an offensive strike against the Cylons. It would be unlike their last encounter when the Fleet was sitting helplessly in space awaiting refueling, and the _Galactica_ couldn't abandon them. Adama's hands had been tied, but Cain had insisted on doing things his own way anyway. As usual.

This could be it. The turning point in their flight from the Cylons.

----------

"How can they manage to take something that could be so . . . rewarding, and ruin it so completely?" Starbuck griped, looking down at the tray of fluids in varying consistencies and colours. He picked up the cup, sniffing at the hot brown broth, supposedly bovine-based, though in reality looking _and _smelling more like it was a well-strained by-product from a sanitation ship. He groaned, rolling his eyes dramatically, and putting it back down.

"Mine's okay." Luana said from beside him, peaking under her own tray. A small serving of basic proteins, with equally small servings of vegetables and carbohydrates. The entire meal didn't look any worse that what they were served in the _Galactica_'s mess, and at least it wasn't covered in some fatty sauce. That was instead on the side. Best of all, she didn't have to cook it.

"Are you going to eat something?" Cassiopeia asked, appearing at Starbuck's side.

"Cass . . . I . . . uh . . . " _Frack!_ Even though Chameleon had said the words, he hadn't really thought about it at the time. But the fact remained that Cassiopeia had kept Chameleon's secret. Probably that would have been a lot more distressing if they were still a couple, but even so, he couldn't help but wonder why she did it. _The question of the day, Bucko. Why?_

"If you're going to get out of here in a couple days, like you wanted, you're going to have to start eating, Starbuck." Cassie told him, pausing when he opened and closed his mouth and then sighed, looking back down at his sketchy meal. She immediately disassociated herself from the food preparation. "_I_ didn't make it."

"Uh . . . excuse me a centon . . . or five." Luana smiled briefly, aware from Starbuck's recounting of Chameleon's news that there was some unfinished business between these two. She hesitated and reached back, picking up her tray, before heading back to her biobed. _Hot food is hot food, after all._

Cassiopeia watched the younger woman go. "Chameleon told you?" she asked Starbuck, her gaze reluctantly returning to him.

"Yes, he did." Starbuck replied, watching her face. She looked nervous, slightly distressed. How many times had he seen that look on her fine features over the sectars and not known the cause of it? Especially when they were discussing Chameleon. He'd blamed it on one too many long-range patrols or all-night card games. Or hormones.

"I'm sorry, Starbuck."

She dropped her head, taking a deep breath before again meeting his eyes. Hers were moist. "Chameleon convinced me . . ." She shook her head as if amending her statement. "I know I was wrong. I should have told you."

How many times since had she wished she had made sure father and son were _together_ to get the news? Never again would she be part of genetic testing and not give the results to both parties at the same time. A lesson learned. But at what cost?

The guilt was unbearable, and she had had to carry it around with her, waiting until one old conman thought the time was right to enlighten his son as to their relationship. In that first sectar after the testing, Cassiopeia had high hopes, with Starbuck shuttling across to the _Senior Ship_ or the _Rising Star_ to see Chameleon regularly. But then like most relationships that required too much effort from the Colonial Warrior, he had gradually let his father drift away, instead, informally adopting a family of Empyreans along the way. Moving on once again.

_Starbuck, is something in your head broken, or what? Or maybe your soul? _She had spent enough time trying to figure out this particular man and his aversion to commitment. _Too_ much time.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked quietly, wondering where he had gone so wrong. Hades, he thought he could _trust_ Cassie. Despite what had ultimately happened, he had always thought they had at least been honest with each other. Sometimes brutally so.

"I really thought _he'd_ tell you." She sniffed at the memory. "He was so surprised when I gave him the news. As though it hadn't really occurred to him. I thought he just. . . needed time to get used to the idea. He wasn't _ready_ to be a father." Cassie replied, squeezing his hand briefly.

"It's not everyday that someone drops a thirty-odd yahren old son onto your lap." Starbuck remarked dryly, not quite holding the accompanying smile. "Sure would take _me_ off guard if I was in his shoes."

She smiled at his effort, leaning in closer, keeping her voice down as the sanitation tech cleaned only metrons away, his eyes on them both. She returned the stare, waiting until he looked away in embarrassment at being caught eavesdropping, his complete attention returning to his glossy floor. She really would have to talk to the man's supervisor. "It _had_ to come from _him_, Starbuck. If I'd suddenly told you . . . and you were left wondering if he was ever going to tell you himself . . . where would that leave your relationship?"

"You should have told me _that day_, Cass. Hades hole, I was just as much of a client as he was . . . _frack_, I was a lot _more_!" he told her, combing his fingers through his hair.

"I know. You're right." She said quietly. "But that day, I was _so sure_ that Chameleon was going to tell you. I _wanted_ him to be the one to tell you."

Starbuck sighed. "Yeah."

"I know how much this means to you. I really don't have an adequate excuse. That's why it's been so hard to live with . . ." She sighed, shrugging her slender shoulders. "I really don't know what else to say. I truly am sorry. If I could do it all over again, I'd do it differently, but you know as well as I do that we can't go back."

"How much did you have to do with him telling me today?" he asked her after a moment, his voice low. Rubbing his throat as the smell of the cleaning chemicals began to upset his already precarious stomach, he pushed his tray away, the mere sight of the so-called 'food' making it worse.

"Chameleon came of his own accord, Starbuck. Repeatedly. He almost _lost_ you last night. I just sat him in the chair beside you. He did the rest." Starbuck didn't need to know that she had pushed his father just that extra bit required to tell him the truth. Sagan only knew that she had owed her former lover that much after keeping her promise to Chameleon for far too long. And now the slate was clean. She could move on.

He nodded, trying to tell himself that in the big picture, it shouldn't really matter. Especially now that he and Cassiopeia were history. But a churning in his gut was arguing the point, the bile precariously close to rising in his throat again. He reached for the closest basin, abruptly deciding not to belabor the point . . .

----------

"You're going to sell it for _what_?" Chameleon asked, standing outside Fausto's office on the _Rising Star_ and holding the Earth coin in his hand. He shook his head at Commander Dayton. "My dear friend, don't you realize that it's the coin's uniqueness that gives it value, _not_ the composition of metals?"

"Hey, I just need some local mulah to get me through until some of this grindingly hard work translates into a pay cheque." Dayton shrugged. "Besides, the way I figure it, the initial investment just appreciated about two hundred percent. On top of that, I have a date tonight, and I'm _not_ going to look like a cad." He gestured at the hand-me-down clothes he was wearing, culled from the off-duty attire of some fallen warrior. While better than the near-nakedness of the his slavery days, it wasn't exactly the latest from Paris either. He wanted to hit one of the stalls on the _Rising Star_ before things really got going.

Fausto's door opened on cue.

"Commander Dayton, what a pleasant surprise," Fausto purred, his eyes on the American half-dollar, _not_ the Earthman. Eyes that reminded Dayton of a shark's.

"Fausto," Dayton nodded, pouring on the charm. "I've changed my mind. About the coin."

"I'm telling you, Commander Dayton, I could do much better, and still have the cubits for you by dinner . . . for a small percentage." Chameleon smiled charmingly between the men, closing his fist around the coin.

"Commander Dayton, I . . . are there others in the bidding?" Somehow Fausto sounded almost innocently surprised.

Almost.

"Uh . . . well . . ."

"Think about it, Commander. My intervention could mean the difference between a few drinks between friends, or a romantic evening for lovers." Chameleon grinned, opening his hand, now apparently empty, and delighting in Fausto's look of surprise and outrage.

"You're not happy with the price I offered before, Commander Dayton?" Fausto asked curtly, clearing his throat and trying to soften the statement with a smile.

At least it could pass for a smile at the Louvre.

"Well . . . I _was_ . . ." Dayton sputtered, looking at Chameleon uncertainly.

"Until I explained that he was being taken for a ride. Now while that might be appropriate for the chancery, it shouldn't happen between friends or _business_ partners," the old conman chastised Fausto.

"Now, Chameleon, I wasn't certain that his friends didn't have _pocketfuls_ between them," Fausto defended himself.

"It's a one-of-a-kind. Not to mention something of great personal significance to Commander Dayton. Did he tell you the story?"

"Uh . . . no." Fausto shook his head, looking at Dayton who smiled apologetically.

"His father's parting gift before the Commander was shot down in the Great Coffee War." Chameleon nodded sadly, his brain grasping the only Earth term he could remember off the top of his head.

"Coffee War?" asked Fausto, looking back to Dayton.

"Yes." Dayton looked at Chameleon, eyes momentarily flashing murder. He returned to Fausto. "It was . . . God, it was a tough one, let me tell you." he took a deep breath and bit his lip, opening his mouth and hoping that something came out. "I was flying my _Arabica _fighter, and was shot down by one of the enemy's most dreaded pilots. . . uh, Juan Valdez. In his _Mayan Black Onyx_ fighter." Dayton shook his head theatrically. "He flew with a hand-picked squadron. They used the dreaded . . . Espresso air-to-air missile, in the Battle of Yuban. Terrible weapon."

"I see. How did you survive?"

"I ejected over . . . Decaf Canyon, in the Brother's Hills. Fortunately, I was soon rescued by Lieutenant . . .Folgers, one of my squadron buddies."

"You must tell me this story in more detail," said Fausto, eyes tracking back to where the coin _used_ to be.

"Sure, sometime soon."

"Anyway, as you can see," said Chameleon, blowing in his fist and again opening it to display the coin, "the sentimental value alone places it at well above one hundred cubits."

"How _far_ above?" Fausto asked.

"Well, Fausto, being a gentleman, I expect that you will now adjust your price accordingly knowing what a rare treasure it is that you . . . _might_ be acquiring. Besides, Sire Dracus, who likewise resides on the _Rising Star_, also enjoys rare collectibles. I have a strong feeling that he would be interested." His eyes twinkled with his enjoyment of the negotiations.

_God, I'm in the middle of_ The Price Is Right! _When does Bob Barker come out?_

Fausto nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing at the old man, not at all pleased. "I understand now how you managed to position yourself to represent these gentlemen, Chameleon."

"Just protecting my interests, Fausto, and my friends," Chameleon returned, face all innocence.

"I think I can offer a price that would be agreeable to _all_ parties." Fausto motioned them towards his office. "Please come inside."

"By all means, Fausto," said Dayton, squirming as they walked into the office. "Excuse me, but could I use your bathroom?" Fausto scowled. "Uh . . turbo flush, sorry. Still getting used to real food," said Dayton chagrined.

"By all means," said Fausto, indicating the direction. Dayton crossed the room, and waited until the door slid shut behind him.

Then he leaned against the door, unable any longer to keep from convulsing in silent mirth.

----------

"You're looking a little green, buddy."

Starbuck opened his eyes reluctantly, the light above making him wince as pain lanced through his skull. That of course made his stomach heave once again.

_This is really pointless. There's nothing left to throw up, Bucko. _He closed his eyes again, heaving into the latest basin Cassie had left him. Endlessly, his stomach contracted painfully, despite the fact that all he could expel was a little sputum. He spat it out and groaned pathetically, feeling the sweat pouring off him in rivulets.

"He doesn't look too good . . ." Boomer's voice murmured above him.

"No." Apollo agreed, taking a step back, and almost upsetting a cleaning bucket of strong smelling disinfectant. It gave him the idea the health team had been doing a fair amount of cleaning up.

"What are you two doing here?" Dr. Salik asked abruptly. The Chief Medical Officer was covered from head to toe in isolation gear, ensuring the health care provider didn't breathe in or come in contact with possible airborne microorganisms. "We just posted a quarantine sign at the door."

"Uh . . . we didn't see a sign." Apollo looked back to the entrance and then to Boomer. He took the mask that Dr. Salik handed him, covering his face and putting it on over his ears, then took a step back from his still-heaving friend. Cassiopeia, dressed identically to Salik, held a protective gown and gloves for him to don. Salik was already likewise outfitting Boomer. "What is it? What's going on?"

"Where's Hinnus?" Cassie asked, looking around for her team member.

"I thought he was setting up the quarantine station." Salik growled, also scanning the room.

"So did I." Cassie muttered, tying up Apollo's gown before she headed for the entrance adding curtly, "I'll do it."

"Dr. Salik?" Apollo asked again, beginning to feel as though he had accidentally walked into the microbial cesspool of no return.

"It appears to be a virus, Captain. It hit just about half the patients in the Life Station about a centar ago, starting with our sanitation worker and one of our med techs not long before that. Some have been affected a little worse than others." He looked down at the lieutenant who was curled on his side, eyes tightly closed, his hair damp with sweat. He checked the biomonitor readouts and then increased the flow of the intravenous. Leaning over the warrior, he assessed Starbuck's stomach, ignoring the additional gasp when he pressed on it, looking for any signs of distention or rigidity. The physician nodded in satisfaction, pouring over the datapad before continuing. "It looks much like the early stages of the Skorpian Influenza, but we can't be sure until the cultures are completed."

"Uh . . . are _we_ . . . quarantined?" Boomer asked, looking around distastefully. His last visit to the Life Station, he had almost died due to another rare microbe picked up on patrol with Jolly. Mind you, he had never skipped decon since then.

"Did you touch Starbuck?" The doctor returned. "You generally need to come in contact with infected vomit or stool to contract it. Then it can still be another twenty-four centars until you show symptoms."

Boomer shook his head emphatically, raising his hands. "Nooooo!"

"Then you should be okay. Luckily, he hasn't been throwing up much." He ignored Starbuck's loud snort of opposition. "Just to be certain, we'll give you a hypo-boost before you leave. We've come a long way in battling these virulent viruses after all. It's not like the old days when you could do nothing but wait for the symptoms to abate."

"Then Starbuck will be feeling better soon?" Apollo asked, looking at the lieutenant. His friends eyes opened slightly, as if in response to his name, and he briefly focused on the captain, mumbling something incoherently.

"He should be." Salik nodded. "We gave him a dose not long ago, when we realized what we were up against."

Apollo nodded, leaning down closer to his friend, "What was that, Starbuck?"

Starbuck licked his lips and tried again, before croaking, "Shoot me."

"Sorry, buddy. They frown on that in the regs."

"Especially your wingman." Boomer added.

"Frack the regs . . ." Starbuck whispered before his face contorted and he clutched his abdomen grunting in discomfort and retching once again.

Salik again looked around his Life Station. Two other med techs were occupied with patients suffering with nausea. He glanced back at Starbuck, shaking his head. The lieutenant had been hit the hardest, but keeping in mind he had also had abdominal surgery, perhaps it was no surprise. "In the meantime, Captain, perhaps you could pass the word that we are closed for twenty-four centars, except for emergencies. My staff will be busy enough dealing with those who are really sick, never mind warding off concerned, but unwelcome, visitors." Most of Blue Squadron arriving en masse naturally came to mind.

"How's Luana?" the Strike Captain asked.

"Good question." Salik looked lost for a moment. He hollered over to Cassie, "Cassiopeia, where's Ensign Luana?"

"Damn!" Cassie snapped uncharacteristically. It expressed the extent of her frustration with the situation . . . or the paleness of her features. "Actually, she went to the Fitness Center a couple of centars ago. She wanted Kale, the fitness trainer, to work with her, hoping to speed up her rehab. She's not back yet." She wiped at her brow with her forearm.

Salik sighed loudly. "I assume she was asymptomatic?" He looked relieved at her nod. "I'll comm the Fitness Center and check on her. I hope to Hades Hole that she doesn't have it."

"Uh . . . she and Starbuck have been known to . . . swap some fluids now and then." Boomer mentioned.

"I'm _well_ aware of that, Lieutenant Boomer." Salik replied with a glower, looking back down at the sputtering warrior.

"When do these . . . culture results come back?" Apollo asked, grimacing and shaking his head at the sounds coming out of his puking friend. It was reminiscent of a few 'mornings after the night before' during their Academy days. Checking out all-night bars with questionable backrooms offering illicit gambling, and Starbuck putting any number of strange concoctions in front of him, and him being idiotic . . . or inebriated enough to drink them. Of course, then it was _him _doing most of the vomiting, not Starbuck.

"Three days." Salik replied sourly. "Ironically, by then it should be well cleared up."

"If that's what it is. Where's the Security Officer who's supposed to be on duty?" Apollo looked around for the missing Blackshirt.

"Vomiting in the turbo flush." Salik replied. "I understand there's a replacement coming."

"Wait a centon, isn't it strange that the Security Officer is sick too?" Boomer asked.

"It would be if he wasn't on duty yesterday as well." Salik agreed. "Actually, with the Life Station closed, perhaps you should reconsider putting another of their officers at risk. It's not as if there will be anyone coming in here that we won't be aware of."

"I don't think so, Dr. Salik. Seems to me, if someone was going to make another attempt on Starbuck, this would be the perfect opportunity." Apollo argued. "Can't you just give the officer a hypo-boost as well?"

"Of course," Salik returned. "I'm just trying to keep the people coming in and out of here to a minimum, Captain."

"I understand, Doctor. And I'm just trying to keep the Life Station safe for all concerned."

----------

Lia pulled off her jacket as she walked into the billet, grinning in satisfaction that she had been part of the patrol that _might_ have just located Axius. A planet not far off their current flight path, and with the perfect spectral type star, orbit, and atmosphere for sustaining life. Human life. On closer scans they had actually located several small settlements of Humans, all spread out across a single land mass just north of the equator. This _had_ to be it. Now they were awaiting a decision from the Commander as to the next course of action for the refugees from the pirate base . . . and the pirates.

"You look pleased with yourself."

Lia whirled, not expecting to hear her sister's voice, never mind _see_ her. "What are you doing here?"

Luana was pulling on her boots, relieved to be back in her uniform. "I was discharged. There's a virus going around the Life Station, and since I didn't appear to have it, _and_ I've started up a rehab program with Kale in the Fitness Center, they decided I would be better off here. They gave me a hypo-boost and sent me on my merry way. Assuming everything's fine, I have to check in with Dr. Paye in three days for a follow-up."

"How's Starbuck?"

"Sick as a daggit." She actually hated to leave him, but she didn't want Lia thinking they were joined at the hip. Luana frowned looking down at her boots, avoiding her sister's assessing look. "Did you ever notice the guys have nicer boots? Why is that anyway?"

"What are you talking about?" Lia asked.

"You _know_. The men's boots have the buckle flaps going down them which is so much more snazzy than ours. And I'll bet they're a heck of a lot easier to get in and out of." She considered her own boot before pulling on the second one. "And these_ heels_. What were they thinking when they put _high_ _heels_ on women warrior's boots? Fashion? Have you tried running in these things? I mean, _really_ running! Lords, I've almost turned an ankle so many times . . . "I've even managed to catch them on the seat in my Viper once. I really hate that. I wonder if I can get Starbuck to snag me a pair of men's boots when he's up and around again? Do you think it's against the dress code?" She paused to look at Lia, who was staring at her in disbelief. "What?"

Lia chuckled and then threw her arms around her sister. "It's just so good to have you back."

----------

"You shouldn't be here."

Salik's concerned voice. But he wasn't talking to Starbuck. _Thank the Lords_.

"I'm beginning to get that idea."

Cassiopeia.

Starbuck tried to open his eyes to take a look at the most recent victim of the Skorpian Influenza but just a glimpse of the blinding light that seemed to send stabs of pain through his already throbbing skull, was too much to bear. It was all he could do to reach for his sheet and slowly pull it up over his head. _Like someone else would have the decency to do for a corpse. _Blessed darkness; his castle wall against the tortuous enemy.

"Lieutenant, sorry to bother you, but when we do our assessments, it's really preferable to at least get a quick look at the patient to make sure that the fact that you're still visually alive corresponds with the data on the biomonitor."

Some unknown male smart-astrum of no possible consequence.

"Go Cassiopeia. Waheeb and Giselle are here now. Get some rest."

Salik again. Sagan, the man was _loud_.

Starbuck's recent barrier against the light and the outside world was peeled back off his face, and he turned his head into his pillow in self-defense.

"Lieutenant, do you still have the headache?"

_Headache?_ Headache was really not a strong enough word for it. The back of his cranium was pulsating like a fusion reactor with a blocked power distribution node. It seemed as though centars had passed since he was even aware of any pain in his stomach from his recent surgery. The agony in his head had surpassed all else, becoming the center of his universe. He retained a small measure of hope that his head would explode and put him out of his misery . . . since his no-good friends wouldn't shoot him.

"Lieutenant?"

Even moving his lips to form the words that would make the annoying med tech go away was too painful. Even _thinking_ _'_frack off' hurt beyond words.

"Doc? He seems worse to me, according to his chart. Shouldn't he be getting better by now? It's been a few centars since we gave him the hypo."

"I know, Waheeb. These four all seem to be getting worse. I want a complete work up again so we can see what's different. Repeat all the initial blood work, and add a toxicology screen, blood gas panel, and full electrolyte analysis. Actually, get a blood sample from Cassiopeia before she goes too. I'll telecomm and find out how the sanitation tech and Security Officer are doing."

"Analgesia?"

"We've tried several and they haven't touched their pain."

"Sheet over the head?"

"He's not dead yet." Dryly.

Starbuck allowed a small groan to escape for Salik's benefit, and even that slight sound reverberated through his skull like a ricocheting battering ram. _Lords, I hate Life Station humour_.

----------

Swanky new duds, a cologne that he hoped wouldn't drop the faint of heart at twenty paces, and a decent shave, Dayton was almost ready for his first date in . . . holy crow, close to forty years. He shook his head at the trouble he had taken, feeling a bit like a primping teenager again as he strode down the corridor back to his shared quarters.

Well, you'd never know it by Earth's standards, but he apparently had the latest and greatest fashions in men's wear a la Colonial. Hey, at least he hadn't seen any articles in the change room on which pants best suited his body type, a sign prohibiting more than three items in there, or the six rules for wearing colour. And he had to admit, it seemed to be more about comfort, at least at his age, then bringing out the colour of his eyes.

All in all, it had been a good day's work. He had survived the Council meeting intact, and had had his first really good look at Colonial politics. A lot like politics at home, he'd decided, with heavy armour on one's back a definite necessity. He still wasn't certain about the whole idea of becoming one of those _mooyuks_, but he did know for a fact that before he attempted something along that line it would probably be a good idea to learn how to read and write their language. A couple hours wandering the shops on the _Rising Star_ had made him realize how illiterate he was by their standards.

Oh, and placing the bug in Fausto's office had been as smooth as silk . . . stockings. Hmm. He grinned at his train of thought. _Stop it, Dayton. Act your age, for God's sake_. _On second thought, you'd better not. You're too damn old. _Anyway, with Chameleon hanging about, playing his part so well, he'd ended up getting five hundred of the colonial currency units for the old Kennedy half-dollar. As soon as he had a moment, he'd sit down and try to work out how much the gold coins came to in dollars.

Now to top it off he had a date with the beautiful Cassiopeia. He shook his head, realizing he was just looking forward to spending a little time basking in the warm glow of female companionship, after years of endless misery. Hopefully, if she could stomach a few hours with him tonight, she would still be up to accompanying him to the soiree in the _Rising Star_'s Astral Lounge and Chancery in a couple more nights. Beyond that, who knew? He had no expectations, even though she had assured him she wasn't deterred by his age. Honestly, he just hoped they got along. _Say it enough times, you might begin to believe it._

He let himself into his quarters, checking his new chrono and then double checking it. _I think I have these numbers figured out._ He still had plenty of time to shower and get to the docking lounge.

"Commander, Cassiopeia called on the _thingy_," Dickins told him from the couch where he was glued to the IFB, languatron in hand. He motioned towards the comm unit.

"Oh?" Briefly he wondered if she was running late.

"Yeah, apparently some kind of scorpion attacked the Life Station. She's down for the count, Mark."

"_Scorpion_?" Dayton asked. All he could picture was some really cheesy horror movie where a scourge of scorpions moved as an army, covering, stinging, and killing everything in their path, with a maniacally-laughing mad scientist thrown in for extra flavour. For some reason, the baddie looked a lot like Dr. Wilker.

"Scorpion _Flu_? Maybe." Dickins frowned. "Regardless, she's sick. She can't make dinner tonight. Sends her apologies and regrets. That part I know I got right. She sounded disappointed."

"Oh." Talk about knocking the wind out of a guy's sails. He dropped his bags where he stood, not quite sure what he was going to do next. "Any other cheerful messages?"

"Yeah. That Hummer guy called. Something about the seeds we were taking up to the ISS. They found some in the box on the shuttle. I couldn't make out the rest of it."

"Okay." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, shaking his head and making a face. "I hope it's not zucchini."

-----------

"Well?" Dr. Paye asked his colleague as he donned his isolation gear. "What's the situation?"

Salik looked pale and diaphoretic. Mind you, it only took about five centons in this protective equipment before you were drenched in sweat, at least in Paye's experience. He decided that Salik enjoyed the simian suit no more than he did.

"Toxicology is negative. Blood work is essentially unchanged. PO2 is normal. Symptoms are nausea and vomiting, headache, and diaphoresis," Salik reported, wiping the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his gown.

"How many of those do _you_ have?" Paye asked shaking his head and administering his own hypo-boost that would likely turn out to be ineffective. No fevers, no diarrhea. Didn't appear to be the Skorpian Influenza after all. Sagan, some days he wished he'd become a . . . he looked at the abandoned bucket of cleaning fluid and the accompanying cart . . . a sanitation tech.

"I've managed to keep down my mushies," Salik grimaced. "Tone, Hinnus and Cassiopeia are off sick. The good news is that the Security Officer and sanitation tech who left with symptoms midday, are both feeling significantly better, and Waheeb is fine, so far."

"Well, then tell the idle snitrad to come back and put his stuff away," Paye groused. "Sanitation tech, I mean."

Salik smiled weakly, just wanting to go back to his quarters and lay down his aching head . . . after a scalding hot turbo wash. Like the other affected members of his staff, he'd put himself on voluntary quarantine until his symptoms abated. Sagan, he'd even put on a fresh set of isolation gear to wear home if it would get him out of the Life Station any quicker and to the comfort of his quiet, peaceful, lonely quarters. "Deimos and Starbuck are the worst cases. Haya and Sedna have improved slightly."

"What did you do right?" Paye asked, looking towards the two biobeds that Giselle was currently hovering over.

"Damned if I know. Same therapy, all of them. My head is pounding so hard, I'm _beyond_ figuring it out at this point."

Paye pointed towards Giselle. "That is?"

"Deimos and Starbuck." Salik replied. "We put Haya and Sedna in room three together. You know how Giselle is about separating the sexes and giving the ladies some privacy if possible."

Paye nodded.

"Do me a favour and give them a once over." He inclined his head towards the male patients. "Soon. I get the feeling that I'm missing something." Salik told the other, rubbing the back of his skull. "I don't know. Maybe we should all just dance naked around a fire, chanting and shaking rattles. Get that Empyrean Healer, Rhiamon, back."

"I think not," Paye returned, with a slight smile. "I'll start rounds again, just as soon as I look over their charts."

"Good enough."

----------

"The virus in the Life Station seems to be contained, Commander. According to Doctor Paye, there have been no new outbreaks." Tigh briefed him on the bridge.

"Good," Adama nodded. "And the landing party for Axius?"

"Captain Bojay, Lieutenant Sheba, Ensigns Varick and Drina. They should be away within the centar."

Adama nodded wearily. It was all well and fine that the Council of Twelve had unanimously voted to return the refugees and the pirates to their home world—apparently glad to be rid of them—still he had felt it . . . _courteous_ to notify the occupants of Axius of the same, and to assess their reaction to what would amount to essentially a 'foreigner's' plan. If indeed this planet _was_ Axius. The Axians did not even possess crude radio, and the survivors had never seen their planet from space. It was, essentially, an educated guess.

"Dr. Wilker also reported that they've found some seed pods in the Earth shuttle that he believes might be viable."

"Earth seeds?" Adama lifted his head, feeling slightly less weary.

"Yes, sir. They're trying to reach Commander Dayton to see if he recalls what they are. If there are dormant seeds there, it's possible we might get our first taste of Earth food long before we arrive there," Tigh mused.

"I'm curious, with all our other similarities, if we end up growing something akin to one of our own foodstuffs. The more of Earth that I see on those old holo-vids, the more it reminds me of the Twelve Worlds . . . and of course, Kobol."

"I look forward to seeing more of their . . . _moovees,_" Tigh tried out the Earth word, smiling at the Commander's nod of approval. "I wonder if Commander Dayton and his men would endeavour to teach some of us their native tongue."

"It would certainly be a benefit if we could make our first appearance on Earth able to communicate effectively without a languatron." He recalled the Council's reaction to Dayton in the same circumstance and how much clout it seemed to lend him. "Just look at some of the interpretations we're getting." Adama rolled his eyes. "It's . . . embarrassing."

"Their language seems to be heavy with a wide variety of idioms and nuances that are culture-specific," said the XO. "When I asked one of them how he was feeling in Life Station, he said something about being 'shaped like a ship'." Tigh shrugged.

"My point exactly. But at least we have them to help us over the difficulties."

Tigh hesitated, then added enthusiastically, "I don't know if it's just because they're here, but . . . Earth suddenly seems so much closer now."

"More . . . real," Adama ventured.

Tigh smiled, abashed. "Yes, sir. Much more real."

----------

Hummer rubbed his eyes wearily, again, as he watched Fausto typing away on his computer keyboard through the transceiver's signal. The reception had been impressive, and the vid feed was excellent. But so far spying on the man was as about as compelling as watching power cells run down.

Of course, it would have been nice if he could see what the guy was inputting into his computer, but he could only watch in complete bafflement as Fausto snarled in hatred as he typed, and spat out, "I'll expose you . . . and ruin you, you boray mong! No one plays with me, and gets away with it! Just a little more time."

Of course, he'd heard that Fausto was trying to ruin Sire Dracus, so if he was putting a little more information together on the puritanical Councilman to destroy him, the comment would certainly make sense. He had plenty of opportunities to mull it over because the next time the man spoke it was almost a centar, and four cups of java, later.

A small shiver had run down his back when Fausto had paused, linking his fingers and raising his arms over his head, stretching out his back. He reached forward and turned off his desk light, placing him in shadow. But it was the cold chuckle that left the man's lips as he lifted his arm and glanced at his chrono that really got to Hummer. That and the whispered, "_Godspeed_".

_That sounded awfully . . . final._

----------

"sweat soaked . . . change . . ."

A gentle touch on the back of his neck, his arm, and then the cool air hitting his skin, rolling across him like a wave. _Cold_.

". . . Starbuck . . .roll. . ."

It was as though his body wasn't his to command. A useless lump of flesh. He sank deeper into the biobed.

". . . help. . . exhausted . . ."

He was vaguely aware of two sets of hands on him, turning him over, and then the other side of his body was exposed to the cool air. He shivered, pain again stabbing through his skull with the involuntary movement. His stomach rolled. Abruptly a vile warmth covered his jaw, his neck, his chest.

" . . . Dr. Paye . . ."

Cool, rough cloths rubbed his face, his skin. Again and again they rolled him, until he felt like weeping for mercy. Every movement was excruciating. Back and forth, hands that were gentle but persistent. Then they finally covered him again with something soft and warm. The heat began to penetrate. His body started to relax. It was heaven.

". . .open your eyes. . ."

Maybe he would have before, but not now. Not when the agony had retreated once again. His body was no longer taking orders, especially from him. The blackness was drawing him further and further away from the pain and the voices.

". . . carboxyhemoglobin. . ."

And he followed willingly.


	81. Chapter 81

Apollo raced to the Life Station. He was thankful that Technician Hummer—having relayed what he had seen on the vid feed from the transceiver—had the presence of mind to telecom him about a simple gut feeling that something was happening . . . somewhere . . . and that Fausto was somehow involved,. The captain's first instinct had been to contact the Life Station, Starbuck and Luana's safety foremost in his thoughts, and his hunch paid off when the med tech told him they needed manpower to evacuate the health facility _stat_.

Available Security Officers and Colonial Warriors alike were mobilized, and by the time Apollo had dropped a sleeping Boxey off at Athena's quarters and had reached the Life Station, bio-stretchers were already moving down the corridors to the room that had recently been used as a secondary health facility when the isolated pirates and refugees had arrived from their asteroid base.

Apollo skirted around another stretcher, noticing as he entered that everyone in the Life Station—whether patient, health care worker, or emergency response worker--was wearing a life mask. He reached for one of the many that were piled on a table at the entrance and hastily applied it before seeking out Dr. Paye.

Paye was running a biomonitor over a patient, his expression hidden by his life mask. The closer Apollo got to them, the more his gut told him the patient was Starbuck.

"What happened? What's going on?" Apollo asked, relieved when Starbuck's eyes flickered open in reaction to the familiar voice. He squeezed his friend's shoulder.

"Carbonion monoxide poisoning." Paye replied flatly. "I don't know how it happened, or where it came from, but everyone in Life Station has a mild or severe case of it, and early symptoms present as . . ."

"Skorpian Influenza." Apollo concluded. "No wonder it didn't spread beyond the Life Station." He watched as Starbuck tried to follow the conversation, his brow furrowed with concentration, but then the lieutenant's blue eyes disappeared behind increasingly heavy eyelids.

"And everybody who returned to quarters suffering from symptoms improved." Paye added. "The problem is we don't know if it's limited to the Life Station, or if it has somehow infiltrated our air exchange system on a more wide spread basis. Not exactly something we want to find out after rest period when people simply don't wake up again."

"Has Air Quality Control been alerted?"

"Colonel Tigh was going to take care of that. As you can imagine, I've been busy enough just getting on top of the situation here."

"How's Starbuck? And the other patients?" He added the latter almost guiltily as an afterthought.

"He and Deimos are the most severely affected, but they should be fine now that we have them on straight O2. They don't appear to have any appreciable organ damage and the pure oxygen they're getting has already corrected their metabolic acidosis." Paye nodded towards the other biobed alongside Starbuck's. "They both had toxic dicholorionmethane levels in their blood which acts by releasing fumes that are readily absorbed and converted to carbonion monoxide by the liver."

"Dicholor . . ." Apollo shook his head. It didn't exactly roll off the tongue. "So, it's _not_ a carbonion monoxide exposure?" He asked hesitantly.

"No. At least I don't believe so. The Air Quality Techs can tell us for sure. Dicholorionmethane seems to be the culprit." He reached over and grabbed a bag of intravenous solution, replacing the nearly empty bag that was infusing into his patient, and then turning and doing the same for Deimos.

"And what is it?"

"It used to be used as a solvent until a safer product was produced. Used in dozens of applications aboard a Battlestar. It hasn't been marketed for almost fifteen yahrens because of the danger to the user. It was supposed to have been purged from the inventories long ago."

"How did you figure it out?" Apollo asked.

"Starbuck and Deimos both became increasingly unresponsive which set off a few warning bells with my staff. I repeated their blood gases and tox screen, and the results, which were drastically different from earlier tests, were consistent with carbonian monoxide conversion from dicholorionmethane poisoning." Paye replied briskly. "The lieutenant is stable enough to transport now if you want to find someone to push the bio-stretcher," he said almost dismissively as he looked at Deimos, his mind already focusing on his next patient.

"How about me?" Boomer's voice intruded, his dark eyes looking down at Starbuck in concern as he moved to the foot of the bed.

"I'll help you." Apollo added, grabbing the bar at the head of the stretcher and deactivating the braking system. Starbuck's eyes opened again, looking around in bewilderment as he was suddenly shifted. "We're moving you down the corridor, Starbuck."

_Apollo's voice coming out of Boomer's mouth._ He blinked down at his friend realizing there was something . . . wrong . . . with his face. It looked kind of—he squinted, trying to focus—translucent. _Life mask, Bucko_. He raised his hand, touching his own life mask. _That_ was never a good sign.

"Leave it on, Starbuck. You still need it."

Starbuck tilted his head up to see Apollo . . . his voice _now _coming from him . . . or in retrospect it _possibly_ was all along. He took a deep breath and rubbed his head, which didn't seem to be pulsating like a Cylon Pulsar Cannon anymore. Lords, now it felt like it was filled with mushies. Half-chewed mushies of the sticky, slightly soggy variety.

"Where's Lu?" he asked, or rather croaked, watching Boomer screw up his face, indicating he hadn't quite heard the question. He cleared his throat and asked again.

"She's transferring patients like the rest of us." Boomer replied, not able to withhold the smile that Starbuck's first concern was for his fiancée. It was about time he found someone he was obviously smitten with. Other than himself, that is.

"Since when do patients transfer patients?" Apollo asked, not missing Boomer's grin at Starbuck's new priority in life. If someone didn't say, _'ah, shucks'_ soon, he might be forced to do it himself. But then, that wouldn't be very 'captainly' of him.

"Apparently, she was released earlier today." Boomer replied. "Ensign Lia personally guaranteed that everyone in the woman's billet is watching her like a falco."

"Apollo . . ." Starbuck wet his lips. "Ask Sheba to watch her for me." As much as he trusted Lia to watch her sister carefully, the young woman didn't have the instinct and skepticism that came with yahrens of experience, and life in the harsher realities of the Colonies, as opposed to the comparatively sedate planet Empyrean. Lia lacked Sheba's edge.

"Can't, Starbuck. Sheba left. She's part of the landing party for Axius." He hesitated at Starbuck's wince of concern. "I'll ask Dietra. Okay?"

A slow nod. "I've got to get out of here. This fracking Life Station stay is going to kill me," Starbuck muttered quietly, not liking the fact that he couldn't watch over Luana himself.

Apollo met Boomer's eyes. Starbuck didn't yet know how close he was to the truth.

----------

Sheba couldn't remember the last time she had drawn in a deep breath and filled her lungs up with the sweet scent of an evergreen pinus forest. The warmth of the sun beamed down on her as she walked across the immense glade that the four Vipers had landed in, heading for Bojay's ship. She turned in a complete circle, sinking down slightly into the soft earth, and all the while starring up in awe at the majestic trees that surrounded them, making her feel so tiny and insignificant. They had to be at least a millennium old, standing proud and erect over an expanse of woodland that seemed to densely cover the land mass they had landed on. The planets where they had encountered Iblis, the Empyreans and the Alrinach may have had real air, but these were scents, she was sure, from _home_!

"Smell that air!" Ensign Varick exclaimed as he fell in beside her.

"It's intoxicating!" Ensign Drina added, pulling her black hair back over her shoulders.

"Yes, it is," Sheba returned, wondering how pirates from that Godforsaken asteroid base could come to this place to abduct workers and women, and not decide there and then to stay forever. If this was indeed Axius, it was glorious. "And smell it all! If those aren't trees we know, then tell me what they are!"

"It's like some kind of childhood land of enchantment!" Bojay exclaimed when they reached him, looking around. "It's beautiful!"

Sheba glanced at him in amusement. "I didn't know you had it in you," she teased him.

"Hey, don't tell me after all these yahrens that you don't know about my _sensitive _side," he grinned.

"I didn't realize you knew the _meaning_ of the word," she returned.

"All combat and no play makes Bojay a dull boy day after day." Bojay winked at his wingmate.

"My point exactly," Sheba laughed, dodging the playful shove he sent her way.

Ensign Varick was already studying his triangulator, getting a fix on the largest settlement they had identified from orbit, also the closest to this remote landing point. "Captain, Lieutenant, I estimate that the settlement is about 7.85 kilometrons to the southeast." He pointed in that direction for emphasis.

Drina checked her own, also out and activated, nodding her agreement.

Sheba smiled, remembering Ensign Varick's inclination to be focused and serious when there was a job at hand on Alrin. Boomer had told her at length about how the young man had seemed to be the most uptight and protocol-oriented Ensign he had ever met, which had thrown him for a complete loop since Varick had been one of _Starbuck's_ students. Later, it turned out, that Starbuck had coached the young man to be a stickler for the regs in Boomer's presence, knowing it would eventually get on the lieutenant's nerves. A little practical joke between friends. Still, Varick had conducted himself well on that last mission which was likely why Apollo had selected him for this one, still trying to find a permanent place for the younger ensign within the established squadrons.

"Then we had better get moving," Bojay nodded, walking towards the treeline.

"Why do you suppose there's this little glade here in the middle of the forest, sir? Ma'am?" Varick asked them, glancing down at the triangulator once again.

"City boy?" Bojay asked with a smile, catching the other's embarrassed nod of agreement. "Simple geography. Usually there just isn't enough soil for the trees to grow. There's probably a lot of rock below us, but what's rotted on top provides enough top soil for _some_ ground cover." He waved a hand to encompass the greenery they were leaving behind.

"Perhaps," replied Varick, eyes still glued to his instrument.

"We'll notice quite a temperature discrepancy when we enter the forest," Drina added. "After all, we'll only get filtered light. With trees this large, there are probably parts of the forest floor that never get _any_ sunshine."

"I know we're here to find out if this is Axius, but I'm actually kind of excited to see a forest with so much old growth. All this would have been deforested millennia ago on Piscon." Varick mused. "Except in the forest preserves."

"Well, if the primary orbital scans we did are correct, the population of all of Axius doesn't even come close to that of Piscon City, never mind the entire planet of Piscon. Somewhere between three and three and a half million, near as we can tell so far. They obviously don't have the same need for lumber that the Colonies did." Bojay returned, as a shadow and its resulting coolness fell across them while entering the forest. He paused, turning to bid a silent farewell to the bright sunshine, before continuing on. "Yo, Varick," he called, as the other remained rooted to his place, still scanning. "Join the expedition."

"Sorry sir. I'm just trying to get a picture of the strata here."

"Anything interesting?" asked Sheba, politely. For her, basic geology had been school's Number One boring subject.

"Well, I read no rock layer anywhere close to the surface here, ma'am. The soil reaches down over . . . eighty metrons." He glanced at the captain who had paused to listen. "The chemistry is very different, however. Very acidic." He knelt down, and scooped up a few fingers full of the dirt. "I don't think a lot in the way of either coniferous or deciduous forms could grow well, in this soil. Even our basic food crops couldn't prosper."

"Huh," said Bojay. "Any idea why?"

"Don't know, but I'm reading something way down there. Discontinuities of some sort." He adjusted the wavelons a bit.

"Well, let's get moving," said Sheba. "We need to scout out the settlement."

"Right behind you, ma'am."

"Imagine having an incredible abundance of natural resources like we've scanned here, and not even coming _close_ to needing them." Drina mentioned, falling in with the others.

"Uh oh!" said Varick, suddenly tense. "I think we've got a . . ." He peered down at his scanner, making sure he was correct before continuing.

"Lords, if we were seriously talking settlement, this would be . . ." Sheba's words abruptly ended in a shriek.

"Cavern!" Varick's cry of warning accompanied them as the ground collapsed beneath them and the earth seemed to swallow them whole.

----------

"Commander, the air exchange system has checked out." Tigh informed him with evident relief. "Seems the culprit was a bucket of cleaning solution left in the Life Station. Analysis has showed dicholorionmethane mixed in with it."

"Dicholorionmethane?" Adama turned to Apollo as his son ascended the command level of the bridge. "Did you hear that?"

"Yes, Sir." Apollo replied. "I just came from the Life Station. Reece is taking the sanitation tech in for questioning." He shook his head briefly. "I remember that damn bucket. I almost tripped over it when I was visiting Starbuck earlier today. It was practically beneath his biobed."

"Yet the sanitation technician was one of the first to develop symptoms." Adama noted.

"I heard." Apollo nodded. "But leaving it right beside Starbuck before he left is slightly transparent. He _must_ have been in on it."

"Apollo, what exactly does Starbuck _know_ that makes Fausto want to kill him so badly?" Adama posed.

"I don't understand it. I thought pinpointing Myrddin for that triad scandal would appease Fausto. Make him believe he was off the hook." Apollo replied.

"You'd think Fausto would be lying low at this point what with everything that's happened." Adama added. "He's certainly fearless about taking care of loose ends."

"You think Starbuck's a loose end?"

"I think that _Fausto_ thinks Starbuck is a loose end. Two attempts have been made on the lieutenant's life in just as many days and from no one that we can directly associate with the man. Maybe Fausto thinks that Starbuck put Luana up to it when she went looking for who was behind the triad scandal. He's clever. Damn clever if he's somehow manipulating this, and obviously not willing to take the slightest chance. Has Guidobaldo shown up?"

"No, sir." Apollo replied with a frown. "He's all but disappeared. Every Security Officer and Colonial Warrior in the Fleet who isn't on patrol is keeping an eye out for him, but he's managed to keep himself well hidden."

"While still ensuring that dicholorionmethane made it into a bucket of cleaning fluid in the Life Station." Tigh added.

"How in Hades hole does he do it?" Apollo asked.

"If we knew that, we'd obviously have a better handle on Fausto's network." Adama returned. "While the compound may have been removed from military use, there may still have been supplies aboard a civilian ship like the _Rising Star. _It obviously runs deep, this network of Fausto's, if it can reach into Life Station. Anything from the transceiver?"

"Other than him muttering angrily about Dracus and then bidding Starbuck 'Godspeed', nothing. By the way, both of which are assumptions and nothing we could take to tribunal unfortunately. He must be contacting Guidobaldo electronically somehow. Text messages or something like that." Apollo suggested. "Hummer mentioned they've already swept the room for transceivers, but they didn't detect it . . . at least this time."

"Or maybe they did detect it, and are acting as though it isn't there." Tigh suggested.

Apollo rolled his eyes, having not even considered that possibility. "In any case, Security has a couple men guarding Sire Dracus now too . . . much to his apparent chagrin."

"He wouldn't want to appear to be afraid of Fausto in any way." Adama nodded. "I can see having Security in tow would be an affront to his pride."

"Better than an assault to his person." Apollo rejoined.

"A man like Dracus wouldn't see it that way." Adama replied with a faint smile. "His sense of his own reputation."

"Better to die than appear weak in the face of the enemy?" Apollo asked, thinking that the bureautician was a stubborn old fool.

"Something like that." Adama nodded.

"You sound like you agree with him?"

"I . . . _respect_ him."

"Apollo, what is the likelihood that Starbuck will be released from the Life Station in time for the _Journey to Earth_ party?" Tigh asked.

His lips tightened and he shook his head. "I'm not sure. He seemed intent to get out of there for a guy still connected to too many tubes to count."

"Is there someone who can take his place if it's necessary?" Tigh asked.

"Yes, between Chameleon and I we can pull it off." Apollo replied, knowing he would have to get up to speed on some of Starbuck's early reconnaissance and wondering if it would come to that. He really didn't want to involve the old conman anymore than Starbuck did. Lords, he hadn't even had a chance to tell Starbuck about the transceiver in Fausto's office yet, and that now Dayton was involved further than his friend had wished. Perhaps it was the kind of news that could wait until the next day. Then again, maybe it would be best told to a slightly _sedated_ Starbuck. He shook his head ruefully and sighed, thinking of those surprise Academy survival tests. Best to just get it over with. He glanced at his chrono recalling his sleeping son in his sister's quarters.

_Tomorrow._

_---------- _

With his pale features, recent abdominal scar, and the life mask that was delivering precious oxygen covering half of Starbuck's face, it was almost difficult to be angry at him. Especially when she noticed he had pulled off his Life Station gown and it was lying at the foot of the stretcher, his sheet covering him from the waist down. Something about that strong, lean physique was irresistible no matter his condition. Yet those yearnings she was suddenly experiencing were detrimental to a good astrum kicking. However, Luana knew that with just the right amount of application and determination, she could overcome these barriers to anger.

_Maybe just one kick._

"So, would you care to explain why I can't go to the turbo flush without an escort?" Luana asked, her voice waspish as she gathered her resolve. She looked back over her shoulder to frown at Lia and Dietra who apparently just _had_ to go check on Ensign Haya's condition all of a sudden when she announced she was going to see Starbuck.

Those baby blues were on her as she turned back, and she knew that he recognized her frame of mind from the way he now considered her carefully, like a predator about to pounce. So with that in mind, his next choice of words were clearly suicidal.

"I don't want you to fall and crack your head on the throne, Princess." He murmured, his eyes twinkling with sudden amusement.

It wasn't exactly the answer she was expecting.

She grabbed his life mask with one hand, pulled it straight up off his face, extending those elasticized straps to their maximum length, before smiling sweetly down at him and letting go. It snapped back into place.

"Hey!" he protested, sitting up, his hands flailing at his face in shock. He swung his legs off the side of the biobed. "That hurt!"

"Terribly sorry," she murmured, arms crossing over her chest, not sounding the least bit sincere.

"Sagan, Lu . . ." he pulled the mask off his face, glaring at her.

"_Explain_, Starbuck." She insisted, her brown eyes staring balefully at him.

"Frack, woman . . ." he muttered, scowling back at her.

She lifted her chin waiting.

Starbuck let out a deep breath, "What the _frack_ have I got myself in to?" he growled.

"Deep mong if you don't tell me why you've assigned me my own personal watch daggits!" Luana returned stubbornly.

"Because Fausto might be trying to kill you!" He snapped. "I have a serious prejudice against you ending up dead."

"I'm a warrior! I don't need a phalanx of . . ."

"Yes, you do, Goddammit! None of us are invulnerable, and you can't get a Viper in a corridor. You. . ."

"No, I . . ."

Then he moved.

Abruptly, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him, knocking her off balance and landing her in the humiliating position of astrum-up across his lap. He leaned on her, holding her securely, hissing in her ear, "You're inexperienced, naïve, and your reflexes are slower than they've ever been after Fausto's goon almost killed you the first time around. If you'd been in Life Station last night, like he thought you would be, you would have ended up in the same condition as me, if not worse, after all the neural trauma." Starbuck knew had she been there, she would have been beside him, her biobed pulled up alongside his. The staff had been fairly tolerant of it considering the setting. The mere thought scared the pogees out of him. "You're smaller after all. The toxin would work faster." He held her for a moment, feeling her chest heave as she struggled against him. Most of all it terrified him that something would happen to her again . . . and she wouldn't be so fortunate this time around. He wasn't ready to lose her . . . didn't think he could _go through_ that again. He sat up slowly, releasing his grip gradually, and let her up, mentally preparing himself for any number of unpredictable counterattacks.

Luana pushed herself slowly up taking a ragged breath. Lords, she wanted to let him have it with both turrets . . . and just_ might _have if he hadn't used that familiar flight instructor voice on her. A clinical analysis of the situation, devoid of emotion, offering frank assessments of his former student. And backing it all up by showing her how easily overcome she was. She _had_ graduated top of the class after all. _Bastard. _

She looked up at him, having trouble meeting his eyes, feeling like an overreacting idiot. But she _hated_ it when he went into protective mode . . . though now, she could assuage herself, he was at least doing it for more . . . _personal _reasons.

"You all right?" Hinnus asked over her shoulder, and she turned about to reply, then realized he was actually talking to Starbuck.

"Frackin' wonderful." Starbuck returned dryly, his face sour as he looked at the med tech that he had hoped might stay off duty until he was discharged. No such luck.

"Have you voided?" Hinnus asked.

Starbuck looked at him blankly for a micron, then his face twisted in embarrassment as he looked at Luana. "Do you _mind_, Hinnus? Can we talk about my bladder function later, when I _don't _have company?"

"Just remember, at the rate those fluids are going in," the med tech glanced at the intravenous, "if you don't void soon, your bladder might . . ."

"_Later_!!" Starbuck hissed.

Hinnus' face scrunched up in consternation. "It _was_ an accident, you know."

"Lords, save me from well meaning med techs. . ." Starbuck muttered cradling his head in his hands and shaking his head forlornly. "_Please_, Hinnus."

"All right, but don't wait too long. Dr. Paye's instructions. If your urethra swells, especially with your renal history after Alrin . . ."

"Ohhhhhh!" Starbuck groaned aloud, his hands covering his ears.

"I think maybe you should come back later, Hinnus." Luana touched his arm gently, but firmly, steering him the other way. She turned back to Starbuck. "What happened?"

Starbuck shook his head and closed his eyes. He obviously didn't want to talk about it. So it _had_ to be worth hearing.

She grinned and shrugged. "I _could_ just go ask Hinnus."

"You're a cruel woman, Luana." He stated evenly, looking at her intently. "Heartless and cold."

"C'mon . . ."

"How far is this going to go?" he asked after a moment, actually taking a micron to see who was in hearing distance.

"No further than you and I," she promised. "On my honour." She rested her hand over her heart.

Starbuck let out a breath. "You sure you wouldn't rather argue about your honour guard?" He nodded towards Lia and Dietra.

"Ooh, this must be good for you to bring that up again." She chuckled, stepping forward, and positioning herself between his legs, her hips against the biobed . . . and him. She slipped her arms around him, smiling lasciviously up at him.

"You think . . . you think that if you press yourself up against me, that I'll . . . tell you anything you want to hear." he stated incredulously, his arms creeping around her of their own accord as he felt her lithe figure pressing suggestively against him. It took about a milli-centon before he found himself inhaling the familiar scent of her hair, pulling her closer. He growled low in his throat, knowing how right she was.

"Not at all," she teased him, lightly raking her fingers up his ribcage and then down to his astrum, smiling at his intake of breath and the way his muscles rippled beneath her fingertips reflexively. She stole a kiss, savouring the feel of him. His strength, his warmth, his love.

"Lu . . ." he groaned, well aware his body was reacting in the usual way, leaving him in the precarious position that it was just as well that she was standing in front of him hiding the obvious signs of his arousal. He chuckled lightly, "Well, at least everything's operational."

She pulled back, her eyes wide in surprise at his remark, _"_What happened?"

Starbuck sighed. "Hinnus tripped over my . . . catheter tube. Pulled the frackin' thing out of me with the balloon intact. Reamed me out better than a rotary drill." He winced at the memory. "I _really_ have to find another Life Station. The service here is really going downhill."

"What did Dr. Paye say?" she asked in concern, ignoring his blithe remark.

"Something about not charging me extra for the urethral dilatation." He rolled his eyes.

"Frack . . ."

"That's what _I_ said." He nodded. Then he tilted her chin up gently and kissed her slowly, lingeringly, letting his world fill up with passion and need for just a few blissful centons. Nothing but the two of them. It seemed an unobtainable dream at the moment. He sighed, pulling back and stroked her cheek, studying her. She looked so beautiful; eyes half open, lips parted, her features relaxed. "Lu . . . I don't want you to get hurt. I don't know if I could . . . make it through something like that again." All those memories of her in a coma, people trying to prepare him for the worst, battling within himself about whether to stand beside her or run like a frightened child . . .

"_You_ couldn't make it through . . ." she remarked wryly, then bit her lip at the intensity in his gaze. She realized that he was feeling somewhat like she had the last couple days. She had been scared stiff that he would die . . . and she would be left to carry on without him. A bleak existence that she couldn't imagine, even having been his lover for such a short time. "I understand . . . but . . ."

"But what?"

"Are you still intending to go through with the plan?" Luana asked.

He nodded. "As long as I'm out of here." He inclined his head towards the health center surrounding them. "I . . . might just drag Apollo along with me for back up though."

"Apollo, eh?" She nodded. "I suppose the Strike Captain is an acceptable alternative."

"To . . .?" He let out a breath of disbelief as it hit him. "Oh, no! I don't think so. Just what we need, two recently discharged members of the '_Not Quite Dead Yet, But Do Try Again_' Club."

"So you admit that you might not be up to the task?" Luana suggested.

"I'll know better closer to then. If I have to, I'll get Chameleon to do . . . it." He looked around him, mindful of possible undercover sanitation workers carrying toxic chemicals.

"Your _father_," she reminded him.

"Yeah." It was all the more reason he had to be back on his feet to do it himself. Hades, he hadn't wanted to put Chameleon at risk by making him do the actual pick-pocketing _before_ he knew that the conman was his father. Now . . . _now_ he was even more determined that he had to do everything within his power to be back in the game on time. "It just . . . feels strange saying it. I haven't had a . . . a father, well . . .since I can remember."

"You don't remember him at all?"

"No." Those fleeting memories that he had of Umbra always seemed to culminate in a terrifying flight through the Thorn Forest, Cylon lasers ripping down from the sky, barbs reaching out to tear at his skin, shredding away his life and his memory in one fell swoop. Images that he quickly shook off when they did come to mind . . . usually in the dead of night.

"I want to be there. As your date." She leaned towards him, touching a finger to his lip. After a moment, she moved her hand and glared at him meaningfully. "Deny me this, and the Goddess Triquetra will unleash her invincible powers upon you." She raised her voice dramatically, as she had heard Ama do time and time again, then managed to cross her eyes for effect.

He managed to restrain himself for a full micron before laughing aloud.

She grinned, "Well?"

"All right, but you have to _listen_. And you're _not_ leaving the party when . . . well, I want you to stay put in that big room full of people. Probably with Dayton and his men."

"Good, I thought I was going to have to play my capstone." Luana nodded cheerfully.

His eyes narrowed as he asked, "What was your capstone?"

"I thought I'd call Rhiamon the Empyrean Healer around to help you with your . . . problem."

Starbuck shuddered.

On cue a booming voice called out across the Life Station, "Lieutenant Starbuck, have you managed to void yet . . .?"

----------

Dayton scowled, and looked up from his work as the door to their quarters opened. While waiting for all the little duckies for the takedown of Fausto to get in a row, or whatever it was the Colonials called ducks, he was working on a project of his own which was an improvement over just feeling sorry for himself. On a sheet of paper, he was working out tables of names and words, expanding his knowledge of Earth/Colonial parallels. The datapad held the Colonial alphabet, and he was trying to line up the English equivalents, to create a database for written translations. Sitting here like this, he felt almost as if he were back in school, cramming for an exam.

"Bloody Egyptians wrote easier stuff," he remarked to Baker who had just arrived.

"Brought you something."

Bob Baker was a man of few words, but as people so often say, gestures speak louder than words. Dayton turned over the DVD Baker had just handed him, knowing what it was at a glance, despite all the years since he'd seen it. There, in Yvonne's handwriting—the illegible script the bane of every school teacher she had had—was a home movie. _His_ home movie.

It had been Yvonne's idea. Just a memory of home and a chance to see them whenever the urge struck him. He sucked in a breath feeling inexplicable tears welling up at just the thought of seeing their images for the first time in thirty years. His hands shook as he reached for the player that Baker had set down beside him. He popped it open, then stopped.

Life was so goddamned weird. Here he was feeling sorry for himself because a beautiful woman had ditched him in favour of the flu—yeah, his perspective might be a _tad_ askew—and now Cassiopeia was about as far from his thoughts as she could get. Instead, another blonde beauty haunted his memories, held his heart, squeezing it until he felt the tears pouring down his cheeks from the pain.

_And you haven't even pressed 'play' yet, old man._

Then he did. Slowly. He watched as the images came up. Some detached part of his mind noted how oddly clear they were, after all the disk had been through. He wondered why. His face contorted as he tried to hold back the sobs that threatened to escape. Jess, her golden curls so like her mother's, twirling round and round in her ballet costume, all of five years old and exuding energy, pride and innocence. Lauren, joining in, trying to imitate her big sister, her face so serious as she reproduced the steps that she couldn't quite follow. Mitzi, the Heinz 57—part German Shepherd, part Labrador Retriever, part dedicated lapdog—tail wagging, keeping a sharp eyes on the kids, while trying to join in the antics. And Yvonne's voice behind the camera, laughing while encouraging them the whole time and telling them to dance this one for 'Dada'.

"Oh . . . _God_ . . ."

It was like losing them all over again. Only this time he didn't have the pressures of survival in an alien hell-hole to stand in the way of his grieving. Which is probably why his chest was heaving with the pain as the first sob escaped, and he could hear doors behind him politely closing, leaving him alone with his overwhelming sorrow.

Thirty years of suppressed bereavement burst forth in a less than a minute. He suddenly noticed he was somehow on his knees on the floor, hugging himself tightly and rocking slightly back and forth onto his heels as the images of his family played on the small screen. Birthdays, outings, Christmas, vacations. A little glimpse at life when it was at its best. _Gone forever_. Tortured sobs and gasping breaths wracked his body until he thought he would pass out from hyperventilation. Then he _wished_ that he could. _What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, Dayton. _The old idiom came back to him.

Then he realized, _I don't want to be that strong_.


	82. Chapter 82

Starbuck paced a three metron length of floor back and forth, over and over, as Apollo filled him in on the transceiver, Dayton's involvement in the plan, and all they had learned of the dicholorionmethane poisoning. He was finally free of all invasive tubes, feeling considerably better, and was determined to be out of Life Station _that _day . . . which would leave him twenty-four centars to get ready for the _Journey to Earth_ party.

"It took Willem a couple centars, but the sanitation tech, Gaspra, that planted the bucket by your bio-stretcher broke down and admitted that a guy whose description matches Guidobaldo threatened his family if he didn't do as he was told. He has a wife and little girl, and Fausto's goon showed him video scans of her leaving instructional period. He had no idea what was in the bucket, or that it could kill anybody, he just thought it would make you sick like it had him. He figured Guidobaldo was trying to give you some kind of message," Apollo told him, arms crossed as he watched the other pace relentlessly.

"I think I got it," Starbuck replied, turning to do another lap. "This Fausto is even more of a boray slime than I thought."

"Would you slow down?" Apollo suggested. "I know you want to get released, but wearing yourself out isn't going to help."

"I just feel kind of . . . pent up." Starbuck shrugged helplessly, before attempting to stand still. He succeeded for a brief moment, as thoughts of Chameleon, Luana, Dayton and his men, security schematics, access codes, which side Fausto had his ID card on, Sire Regus, and even Sire Dracus ran through his mind, then he began to pace anew. "Did you get much from the transceiver?"

"There's a problem," Apollo admitted.

"With the transceiver?" Starbuck stopped again to ask.

"No, it's working fine. But . . .it seems that Fausto uses a password to access his computer. We haven't got it yet."

"I was prepared for that," Starbuck admitted, running a hand through his hair. "Cepheus gave me an access code, but he didn't know if it was current."

Apollo studied him for a moment. "What were you going to do if it _wasn't_ current?"

"Try the next one," Starbuck replied logically. "Can't hurt."

"Come again?"

"Seems Fausto has a thing about . . . dragons." Starbuck said quietly. "Probably has something to do with the Dragon's Eye Chancery he used to work for. Apparently, in his private quarters he has a series of paintings based on eleven mythological dragons from Skorpian folklore. Cepheus told me that at least three of Fausto's passwords were based on these same mythological dragons. Most people use passwords that are familiar to them, but obscure to anyone else."

"Mythological dragons?" Apollo repeated. "Yeah, I'd say that's obscure."

"Well, I memorized all eleven dragons. I was going to start with _Baleur_ and _Herensuge_, then work my way up to _Y Ddraig Goch, Zilant_, _Zomok, _and_ Zmaj_." Starbuck grinned as Apollo's eyes glazed over before him.

"Frack. When I thought I was going to have to take your place, I wasn't figuring on memorizing the names of dragons."

"I'm irreplaceable," Starbuck returned matter-of-factly with a cocky grin.

"Reprehensible maybe," Apollo replied with a smile. "All the same, I'm coming with you. Admittedly, you're the right guy to access the office and computer, but you'll still need someone backing you up."

"Fine," Starbuck replied casually. With two abdominal surgeries and a poisoning attempt behind him, it wouldn't hurt to have Apollo watching his back. Especially when he wasn't at his best, not that that ever stopped any Colonial Warrior from doing his job. Besides, he had promised something along that line to Luana. "What does Hummer have in the way of a communicator that's a little more surreptitious?"

"He's working on it. Just like he was trying to figure out the password. I also want a transceiver on you. He had an idea about something that would be virtually undetectable."

"I'm not going to have to swallow something, am I?" Starbuck asked distastefully. "I've had enough of electronic felgercarb being put inside of me!" He shuddered, recalling the hideous Obediator.

"Lords, I hope not. I admit I don't have your _experience_, but I can't say I'm crazy about the idea either." Apollo added wryly thinking about future incidences where he might have to carry a transceiver. "Guess we'll find out later today."

----------

Chilled to the bone, Sheba paced the length of the pit they were trapped in, reaching the middle of it where the ambient light of dawn filtered down from above. The trap reminded her of something used for wild animals, camouflaged like the forest floor, yet covering a fine mesh that easily collapsed, dropping the four down to the cavern below. The bars that had separated their cozy little pit from the rest of the cavern left them with no doubt that they were prisoners. The problem being, their 'captors' had not yet appeared to have taken notice of them.

Of course the large hole in the middle of those bars had been blasted through by Bojay, not long after he had come to from the knock on his head he had received during his landing. A brilliant escape plan, but perhaps a trifle premature due to the two injured and immobile ensigns lying side by side on the cold, damp ground.

It had taken over a centar to try and determine the extent of everyone's injuries and patch them up the best they could, and it was with crystalline clear hindsight that Sheba recalled Lia's extensive pack of survival supplies that she had taken on Alrin, even convincing Starbuck to take Luana's along with him on that rescue mission. Lords, what Sheba wouldn't do now for a decent medical kit, an illuminator, and some rations. Of course, they _did_ have those things . . .

_Back in the Vipers, where they weren't doing a lot of good right now_, she sniffed derisively. Yeah, the usual languatron, laser blaster and communicator just weren't going to cut it this time. _While you're dreaming, a_ _hover-stretcher wouldn't go unappreciated right now either, Lieutenant_. Especially considering Drina's broken ankle and Varick's twisted knee.

"I think I hear someone coming this way," Bojay whispered, his hand hovering over his laser.

"Or some_thing_," Sheba added, standing at his side, her hand also resting lightly on her weapon..

"Some_thing_ wouldn't be carrying light." Bojay mentioned, as he saw the ambient glow in the distance.

"Or speak Standard." Sheba agreed, hearing accompanying voices that sounded eerily familiar to the pirates she had skirmished with in the asteroid field.

"Captain, how do we . . ." Drina began.

"Follow our lead, Ensign. They'll know from the job I did on the bars that we're not exactly helpless." Bojay told her, watching her pull herself up the uneven surface of the cave wall, and stepping over to assist her. "Keep in mind, that we're here as a peace envoy to return their own people, as well as to offer to cede custody of the pirates so they can deal with them under their justice system . . . assuming we're on the right planet." He slipped an arm around her and easily pulled her upright, waiting until she maintained her balance attempting to keep her splinted ankle from bearing weight.

"Thanks." Drina nodded with a grimace, the blood rushing to her foot and the resulting pain excruciating.

"I hope to God this _is_ the right planet," Varick added, also wincing as he found his footing. "But keeping in mind that the only time these people have had others landing on their planet has been when they've been attacked, well . . . I suppose I can see why they maintain a defensive perimeter."

"And if we weren't so busy enjoying the fresh air, we might have noticed it," Sheba added. "Here they come . . ."

The approaching torches gave them a better idea of their numbers before they could make out the distinct forms of the approaching Humans. There was almost a dozen of them, dressed in crude garments of cloth and leather, and the ones not carrying torches were carrying weapons. Crossbows by the looks of it.

"Bloody hell, look at the bars!"

"Spread out and surround 'em."

"We don't mean you any harm." Bojay assured them. "We've come to organize the return of some of your people that we picked up on an asteroid pirate base. What is your planet called?" he asked them, his hand never leaving his weapon as they entered the cell and surrounded the warriors. Sheba turned so they were back to back, keeping the ensigns close to them and an eye on their captors. "Is it Axius?"

"Axius, aye," answered a burly greying man stepped forth. "Who are ya?"

"I'm . . . Bojay. This is Sheba, Drina and Varick. We're travelers passing through your solar system." He declined mentioning ranks and Battlestars, letting them believe they were from a smaller ship, and therefore were less of a perceived threat. "We rescued some women and children and took into custody a group of pirates when we rescued some of our own men from their base. Liadan, Ciaren and Skeff described your planet to us. They, and some others, want to return to their home and their people. We . . . just want to help facilitate that."

"My Liadan? She's alive then?" the man asked disbelievingly, lowering his crossbow a little and staring at them for a moment.

"Yes. She is well," Bojay replied, glad that he'd taken the time to look over Colonel Tigh's report and familiarize himself with the refugees' names. "And anxious to get back home."

"And the vermin that took 'em? What of them?" he asked.

"Our Council of Twelve suggest you might want to deal with them within your own justice system. After all, it has been _your _people they have been wronging for yahrens on end, not ours," Bojay explained.

"Ah, if what you say is the truth, it be a tidy way to wash yer own hands of the matter," the man replied gruffly. "But I can't help thinking if you were pirates that this would make a nice tale to be telling us so we'd simply let you go." He raised his bushy brows and considered them, hand tightening on his weapon as he targeted them with the crossbow.

"Check out our craft. You'll see they're single-man ships, not meant for carrying any abducted people or even cargo. We're a reconnaissance party meant to contact you and organize delivery of your people," Bojay replied. "You have no radio, so we had to come in person to speak with you."

The greying man approached him cautiously, every Axian weapon in the cavern trained on them. He raised his head mere metrons from Bojay and sniffed loudly. "He doesn't smell like one of _them_, that's for sure."

The others laughed heartily.

"I'm Finn." His features crinkled with amusement. "Come with us and tell us more of this pirate base and our people and we can sort out truth from fabrication." He turned to another after considering Drina. "Get a gurney, Cabhan. We'll take them back to town."

"Could you make that _two_ gurneys?" Varick asked quietly before the other turned to go.

Finn grinned looking at the young warrior, noticing his splinted knee for the first time. "Aye, lad. Two gurneys, Cabhan. Iollan, give him a hand."

----------

Sire Dracus looked more like an angry thundercloud than the usual unaffected bureautician he usually portrayed as he stormed into the Security Office and then into Reece's inner office, catching the officer in front of his computer reviewing the last centon plans for taking down Fausto. Reece had an uncomfortable moment of déjà vu, when he recalled how the major focus of his job had at one time been exclusively doing Council's bidding before Colonial Security had taken on the additional responsibilities for all civil security within the Fleet. However, old habits died hard and he automatically rose to his feet, a little quicker than he would have liked, coming smartly to attention behind his desk.

"Sire Dracus, sir. How can I help you?" Reece asked, he stole a hopeful look in the direction of Chief Brogan's office, but knew that there would be no help in that quarter. The Chief had left the office with Willlem to follow up on the Guidobaldo trail.

Abruptly, Koradon and Timeus appeared, looking slightly embarrassed as they trailed behind the man they were _supposed _to be protecting. Apparently, this assignment was about as coveted as the one where a guy had to sit in Life Station and inhale toxic fumes while watching Starbuck sleep.

"Officer Reece, I protest this ridiculous . . . _escort_. I'm a busy man who must be free to do my duties on behalf of the Colonial people, and that is truly impossible when I have two watch daggits following my every move . . . " He spared a brief look at the two. "However good intentioned. There is a certain measure of privacy required to speak with other dignitaries in confidence. I might as well go into hiding for all the work I'm getting done. I _demand_ to speak with Chief Brogan." His eyes flashed angrily.

"I'm sorry, Sire. Chief Brogan is out of the office right now."

"Then have him return at once!" Dracus ordered him.

Reece bristled at the man's attitude. "I don't _give _Chief Brogan orders, sir. And neither do you."

"Actually, you are mistaken, Officer. Chief Brogan was _appointed_ by the Council. And he can just as easily be _replaced_ by the Council." Dracus snapped.

"Well, I believe that would take a majority vote, not a vote of one," Reece replied, swallowing down the apprehension as Dracus' eyes narrowed and his lips tightened. "Which would also require a full Council meeting, for such a vote." As much as he knew that the Councilman couldn't affect his career directly as long as Brogan was in charge, he couldn't help but think how easily that could change if Dracus pushed for a new Chief of Security. One more likely to listen to Council's 'recommendations'. "Sire, we're simply trying to protect you. This escort won't last long," he reassured the angry bureautician.

"I take that to mean you're closing in on finally arresting Fausto?" Dracus asked. "I would have thought that blackmail alone was enough to arrest the man. I don't understand what's taking you so long to get him and his assassins into custody." His tone was bordering on disdainful.

"Blackmail would get him a slap on the wrist compared with what we could potentially charge him with if we do it right," Reece explained, trying to appease the man for Brogan's sake, and his own. He reminded himself that Fausto had been harassing the bureautician for sectars trying to coerce him into cooperating with threats of exposing his deceased daughter's drug dependency. "I think you're aware that Fausto is guilty of a lot more than illegal sports betting and blackmail. We must have enough unimpeachable, irrefutable evidence to bury him. Period."

"How long?" Dracus asked with a sigh, looking over his shoulder at Timeus and Koradon. "How long must I . . . put up with this absurdity?"

"I can't be that specific, Sire . . ." He winced as the man glared at him again. "There is a plan in place to bust open Fausto's entire syndicate. We'll have enough to put him away on the prison barge for the rest of his life. A couple days at the most. Less if it all works out as planned."

"And his associates?" Dracus asked, somewhat mollified.

"We'll have every name of everyone Fausto has ever targeted, or had working for him, and the related information that should convict them. All his records."

"Well, then, it sounds as though you're going to need every man at your disposal tomorrow night," Dracus looked pointedly at his escort.

"No, we have sufficient . . ." he paused as Dracus' all too perceptive deductive reasoning hit him. "Tomorrow night, sir?"

"Yes, I imagine if a raid of this magnitude is taking place, you'll need every available man. I'd be happy to return my . . . honour guard to assist you. Especially if it will aid in convicting Fausto and making the Fleet a safer place for each man, woman and child in it. I'm not concerned for my personal safety, especially in relation to apprehending that . . . louse." Dracus took a couple steps and joined Reece behind his desk, gripping his hand and shaking it. "I apologize for my behavior, Officer Reece. As you can imagine, just knowing that one of the most notorious criminals in Colonial history is about to be brought down makes my burden easier to bear." He looked at the others for a moment. "Of course, I mean my _personal_ burden, not just your men's presence." He lowered his voice conspiratorially and maintained his grip on Reece's hand. "It has been a difficult time for me both personally and professionally and I realize I should be thanking God that we have men of your ability and cunning that are willing to sacrifice themselves, working long arduous centars, to protect the civilian population. Bless you, Officer Reece." He unexpectedly embraced the man tightly. "Bless you."

"Uh . . ." Reece patted the other on the back tentatively feeling entirely uncomfortable with the effusive embrace. And a bit suspicious about his abrupt change in behavior, even knowing the history between the Fausto and Dracus. If Dracus thought he was going to pull his guards simply because of a conveniently timed pat on the back . . . He breathed a sigh of relief when the Councilman abruptly released him. "Thanks . . . but Chief Brogan's orders stand. Officers Koradon and Timeus . . ." He noticed the officers were grinning at him in amusement. He frowned at them in return. Yep, this was going to be all over the office by the end of the shift. "They'll remain on duty to ensure your safety, Sire."

"Well, if you . . . feel it is necessary." Dracus shrugged grudgingly. "I've made your job difficult enough today, I know when to stop beating a dead equus, Officer Reece." He turned to his escort. "Are we ready to let this man get back to the job at hand, gentlemen?" And with that he swept out of the office, his impeccable robes swirling around him as the other two hurried to keep up.

Reece sighed again, watching him go, wondering belatedly if he had revealed too much. He settled into his chair again, his attention returning to his computer screen, his guts automatically twisting as he realized their general game plan was still on screen, though admittedly not in detail. . . however Starbuck's name figured prominently. His gaze fell back on the doorway as he began to weigh his options, wondering vaguely if Dracus had even noticed it . . . or . . . if he had carefully positioned himself to take a glance. After all, embracing Security Officers and telling them what a wonderful job they were doing didn't seem to be high on the Council's list of priorities before now. Lords, talk about needing to know exactly what was going on with Fausto, whether they wanted him to or not. Typical bureautician; a complete control freak. Frack, it was a good thing Starbuck was still in the Life Station . . . or the Colonial Warrior just might kill him.

----------

Starbuck could feel Chameleon's eyes on him, following his every move as he pulled on his boots preparing to leave the Life Station. Finally. The old man hadn't seem pleased when he heard the news of his son's discharge.

"Are you sure you're up to it, Starbuck? You still look a bit pale to me. You're moving a little slower too. Guarding your stomach." Chameleon pointed out, seeing his son's frown of annoyance that his attempt to hide his discomfort was unsuccessful under the watchful eyes of the old conman.

_Frowns just the same as when he was little. Tell him no, and there it is._

"Look . . ." Starbuck paused, suddenly unsure what he should be calling the other. 'Chameleon' just rolled off the tongue, but this man was his _father_. Yet, somehow 'father' just wouldn't pass his lips. It seemed so . . . staid. So . . . formal. He winced slightly realizing in all the yahrens he had imagined finding his parents, it had never occurred to him to be wondering what to call them. "_You_ spend a day hurling up everything in your guts, especially when your guts _have_ nothing to hurl up, and you'll probably find your stomach's a bit sore too."

Chameleon sighed at him. How could he find the words to tell his son, the warrior, that he was worried about him rushing headlong into an encounter that had taken on new implications since he realized what a cold-blooded killer Fausto was. "I'd feel better if you'd at least let me do the lift, son. I promise, I'd make you proud."

"No." Starbuck replied, straightening up and meeting his father's eyes. "I don't want you directly involved."

"I've _already_ infiltrated Aquila and Fausto's offices by getting the _Journey to Earth_ organized and I've even helped Dayton plant the transceiver. I hardly see how lifting an ID card would implicate or endanger me any further," Chameleon protested.

"It's not necessary, Chameleon. I can do it," Starbuck returned, sitting on the biobed to do up his boots. He stopped for a moment looking up at the other. "Unless you're telling me I'm not good enough." Sure, he had lifted everything from datapads to ID cards to some of Hinnus' medical equipment which had been set down for a centon in the space of a few days. He had done it purely for practice . . . and maybe to drive the med tech a little crazy, since he certainly deserved it after the catheter fiasco. As far as he could tell, each liberation had gone smoothly, and each mark was unaware of what had happened. All the same, he was still cognizant that he was out of practice, but he balanced that with being more aware of his environment and slightly more cautious than when he had been picking pockets as a teen.

Chameleon rubbed his chin with one hand as he considered his reply. "If I told you that, would you let me do the lift?"

"If you _meant_ it," Starbuck nodded as he waited for the reply.

"Then you're not good enough."

Starbuck's eyes narrowed doubtfully, but he said nothing.

Chameleon took a step closer to the young man, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Fausto has been trying to kill you, son. You know as well as anyone that the secret of a good lift is the element of surprise. The mark can't suspect a thing. Must never even come close to it. There's no possible way that you can approach Fausto at the party without all of his alarm bells going off. You need someone he won't suspect. Someone like . . . a harmless old man." He smiled. "Don't get me wrong, you're technique is superb. You're a natural . . . just like your father." He stepped back awaiting his son's reaction.

"Well, as long as you're not criticizing my God-given talents," Starbuck smiled ruefully, before taking a deep breath and thinking about Chameleon's words. He reminded himself that the reason he had originally asked Chameleon to help him out was for the man's expertise and experience. He had to _trust _that Chameleon wouldn't mislead him simply because he was also a concerned father. But that whole trust issue with the man who had waited until the final centar to even admit that they were father and son was admittedly a sore point with him. "I don't like it, but I know you're . . . _probably_ right."

"Then it's settled." Chameleon nodded, satisfied. He turned as Starbuck's gaze was drawn to the door.

"You ready, Starbuck?" Apollo asked as he strode across the health center.

"Just about. Did Hummer come up with anything new?" Starbuck asked.

"We're heading to the Science Lab next to find out first hand." Apollo replied, handing Starbuck's weapon to him. "Chameleon, how did it go?"

"His betrothal must be mellowing him. He conceded my point. I'm doing the lift." The conman replied with a faint smile.

Apollo nodded in evident relief as he watched Starbuck eyebrows raise suspiciously while the lieutenant strapped his weapon in place. "Good." He and Chameleon had discussed at some length the older man's concerns a centar or so before the older man was due to see Starbuck in the Life Station. There had been a tentativeness to the conman that Apollo hadn't seen since the entire 'Captain Dimitri and the Borellian Nomen' incident had been unveiled so many sectars before. Basically, Chameleon had wanted to be assured that his concerns were justified beyond that of concerned . . . father.

Apollo had just about fallen off the chair he was precariously balancing on, leaning back with his feet up on the desk in the duty office when Chameleon had admitted that Starbuck was really his son. Most of all, when he looked back on it, Apollo was surprised that Starbuck hadn't yet apprised him of the situation. Sagan, Starbuck told him _everything_. Often, much more than he wanted to know.

"Sounds like a conspiracy." Starbuck muttered.

"Your father raised a good point." Apollo told him. Starbuck's nodded when he realized that Apollo knew the truth about their relationship . . . as well as that the captain and the conman had been colluding behind his back. "Fausto would suspect you. There's no reason Chameleon can't just give you the ID card."

"Right." Starbuck returned briefly.

"So, I take it that since the Science Lab is your next stop, that you're going to have a transceiver on you when you go to Fausto's office?" Chameleon asked.

"Yeah, just playing it safe." Starbuck agreed, seeing the relief watch over his father's features. "Relax, Chameleon, this should be straight forward. Five to ten centons in Fausto's office is all I need." He shrugged. "Actually, to start the PAP program, I really only need thirty microns, as long as Corporal Komma is ready to go. After that, it's all downhill."

"That's what I'm afraid of. . . a steep decline." Chameleon returned dubiously. "And after that, assuming it goes smoothly, you'll return to the party?"

"That's the plan. Security will move in to make any arrests once we have a chance to go through the data on the _Galactica_, assuming it's incriminating." Starbuck replied.

"What if Fausto catches you? Or makes a move in the meantime?" Chameleon retorted.

"Then we won't need to examine his data files to charge him," the lieutenant replied immediately. "The transceiver will transmit everything that happens, and that could very well be enough evidence to bring him in."

"It might be Guidobaldo, not Fausto." Apollo mentioned pointedly.

"Rumour has it nobody but Fausto goes into his inner office."

Chameleon studied his son for a moment. "I admit, I'm concerned that you've obviously given that some thought. It's almost like you're making yourself a target to get Fausto in the brig as soon as possible."

Starbuck shrugged indifferently. "Hardly, that's not my style. 'Keep your head down and stay alive' is my motto." He noticed that his father looked at him doubtfully, and Apollo knowingly. "I'm just considering all the possibilities. You're right. He's already tried to kill me once . . . maybe twice . . . but we'll be ready for him if he tries again. That's why I have backup." He nodded towards Apollo.

"Guidobaldo is a hired killer," Chameleon pointed out. "I've . . . asked around a bit, and I know the type. He's a first-rate button man."

"Technically, so are we," Starbuck returned with a shrug. "The difference is we get benefits and a pension plan . . . providing we retire, that is."

"Ever think of helping with the new recruitment adds on the IFB?" Apollo asked him. "You make it sound so . . . enticing as a career choice."

"I'd be perfect as a poster boy," Starbuck agreed with a grin. "They'd be signing up in droves. Let me call Zed."

Chameleon smiled wanly at their banter. "Well, I guess I should get back to my charges. There's still a list of details we have to take care of before Aquila will be satisfied that everything is ready. I'll see you both tomorrow night."

"All right . . . and . . . er . . . thanks for coming by." Starbuck said hesitantly, suddenly feeling strangely awkward in his father's presence again. Especially with Apollo watching them like they were some kind of new and interesting bugs.

"I'll stand by my promise, Starbuck. You'll see," Chameleon vowed, stepping forward to grip his son's hand firmly with one hand and place a hand on his shoulder with the other.

Starbuck simply nodded, returning the grip, unsure if Chameleon was referring to the upcoming lift, or his avowal that he wouldn't desert his son again. He hadn't really noticed before, but the conman seemed to hand out promises like their illustrious Strike Captain did long-range patrols. He couldn't help but wonder if that was solely for his benefit, or from a lifetime of trying to get what he wanted. "See that you do," Starbuck murmured, his uncertainty plain. He softened the words with a hesitant smile.

The comprehension in his father's blue eyes and the resultant tightening of the old man's grip made Starbuck want to believe the latter. The eternal optimist, he suspected that Chameleon was laying it all on the line, and not just so the plan would go smoothly. The conman was doing it to prove himself to his son.

----------

"Just like riding the bus," Dayton mused aloud as they debarked the shuttle arriving on _Agro Ship One_. "I think I'm catching on."

"Really? Where's the sign saying 'Exact Change Only?'"

"Back on Earth, I hope."

"Ah, Earth," sighed Ryan. "So, what about the transit map?" he asked looking around the docking lounge in confusion. "And where's our Liaison Officer? I thought he was supposed to be taking us around from place to place. It's a wonder we didn't end up on the refuse ship," he griped trying to maintain the façade that Starbuck was truly no friend of theirs . . . just in case.

Dayton just smiled in return, waiting for Dickins, Porter and Baker to catch up to them. "I heard from Chameleon that he's getting released from Life Station today. Then _Cup of Joe_ will be back on duty." He shook his head, smiling. _Chameleon. Sounds like a lizard that changes colour! Who the hell would name their kid after a lizard? Then again, apparently the 'lizard' named his son 'Starbuck', so perhaps it was only Dayton's own perception that was askew. In a pig's eye._

"Chameleon went to see him, I take it?" Ryan asked, switching to English, aware now that the father had just revealed his relationship to the son.

"Yeah. He wants to keep on eye on the kid." Dayton replied in kind. "Who can blame him? The lieutenant has a bit of a propensity for getting into trouble."

"Really? No kidding?" They both chuckled.

"So does the old man from what I've heard," Porter added.

"Hmm. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree." Baker grinned.

"Neither does the nut," Ryan quipped.

Dayton grinned, glad to have his team back together as they walked through the corridors of the Agro Ship, carefully following directions that the head botanist, Tuija, had provided them. Elevator doors at the end of the corridor opened and a powerfully built woman with grey-streaked hair tied back casually off her face stood waiting for them.

"Tuija?" Dayton asked as he approached. Behind him he could sense Porter, Baker and Dickins pulling out their languatrons and plugging in their earphones.

"Commander Dayton?" Tuija smiled holding out a hand and firmly shaking his hand in greeting. Her fine wrinkles bespoke of a lifetime spent outdoors . . . until the Destruction.

"Yes. Let me introduce the rest of my team." He paused, deciding to dispense with ranks and keep it as simple as possible. "Ryan, Baker, Porter, Dickins."

Tuija shook each man's hand in turn trying out the strange names as she stood before each man. "This is a real honour, gentlemen. I always wondered if I'd live to see an Earthman."

"It's our hope that we'll all be saying that about Earth one day," Dayton smiled at her.

She gestured them into the lift. "I understand that we still don't know how far away it is. Is that true?"

"Yes, we went through a kind of space anomaly that we call a wormhole," Dayton replied. "Before we could do anything, the pirates who captured us stripped all the equipment out of our ship. Our computers, recorders, back-up tapes. Everything. All our data was gone. So we have no idea how far away home is."

"And you brought some seeds with you." Tuija's eyes glinted with excitement. "Dr. Wilker sent them over from the Science Lab . . . thank the Lords of Kobol. I thought he was going to wire them up to a generator to see if he could force them from hibernation."

"Then they're viable?" Dayton asked.

"Many of them are," Tuija replied, "according to all the tests so far. Under the right conditions, seeds from certain species can remain in a dormant state for thousands of yahrens. Fortunately, the asteroid base seems to have been a good environment for about forty percent of your supply since the hangar was cold and the storage container was dark. We have them in our lab which is where I'm taking you now."

"Are they still labeled?" Ryan asked, recalling how each and every group of seeds had been identified by numbers as well as the Latin names of each plant, in preparation for the newest hydroponics section of the ISS that they had brought up on a previous flight.

"Most seem to be. We've tried to keep the documentation with each seed pod in the hope that you could help us identify exactly what kind of plant life we have. Whether it's edible or otherwise useful, approximate size and conditions it would prefer. I don't suppose we have any botanists in the group, do we?" she asked hopefully.

Porter shrugged. "I don't claim to be a botanist, but I had a mean veggie garden back home."

Tuija looked quizzically at Dayton as the languatron nearest her translated the words from English, but she was none the wiser as to the meaning . . . other than the fact that he denied being a botanist. "What did he say?"

"He can help." Dayton smiled.

"Yeah, you might not be able to understand him, but he can help," Ryan chuckled at the irony. "Actually, Porter was going to be assisting with some of the hydroponics experiments on the Space Station that these seeds were slated for, so he's definitely your man."

The doors opened and they followed Tuija down the corridor to the Agro lab, stepping inside and pausing as everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at the Earthmen.

And stared . . .

Ryan grinned, stepping forward and fanning open both arms getting everyone's attention. "Step right up and see the Earthmen first hand!" He gave them his best Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey's Circus big top voice. "Notice the same amount of limbs in _all _the right places. Lords of Bokol, you'd think we were related!"

"I think that's 'Kobol', Paddy." Dayton chuckled as the wonder and reverence on the botanists faces eased to a more relaxed amusement.

"Excuse them, gentlemen. Just a little overwhelmed, I think. You have to remember, we've been looking for Earth for so long that, well, to a lot of us, meeting an Earthman is almost like meeting God Almighty Himself," Tuija explained apologetically.

"Wow," Ryan murmured, before adding. "I hope your expectations aren't the same."

"Not quite," she reassured him with a smile as she began introducing them around the lab finally leading them to the seeds.

"Now, normally we would gradually warm the seeds and introduce them to light to get them to germinate. But we wanted to see how many you could identify and see what kind of conditions would be best before we proceed."

"Understood," said Porter, setting himself on a lab stool, and getting his first look at the container since it was loaded on the shuttle so many years ago. The case had been opened of course, when the pirates had ransacked the _Endeavour_, but finding only seeds sealed in transparent material, they had tossed the cases aside, deeming them of no use.

_Idiots! We could have had some real food all these years, instead of that damned rotting root!_

"According to our scans, the germination enzymes in these are still active," said Tuija, indicating a number of seeds in what looked like a Petri dish. "This is the package we removed them from."

Porter looked at it. _Lycopersicum esculentum. _ He struggled to remember his Latin designations . . . and then flipped it over to see '_Omatotay_' scrawled on the back in his own handwriting. He'd always done better at _Pig_ Latin after all. He grinned, turning it over again. Below the scientific name was a code number, indicating the variety of hybrid this was. "Ah, tomatoes," he said. "Man, have I missed these!"

"Me too," added Dayton. "Can't find a decent BLT around here anywhere!"

"Maybe we should check out the livestock ship next, and make sure they have something resembling pork." Dickins suggested, licking his lips. "_Bacon_ . . . yum, yum, yum."

_BLT? _Tuija decided to wait on that one. She explained to Porter about their method of force-germinating their main vegetable staples, due mostly to their current predicament. Once they had gotten over a few hurdles of language, Porter explained how tomatoes, in his experience, ideally preferred moderately warm temperatures and well-drained slightly acidic soil. Once understood, Tuija made the appropriate adjustments to her equipment and materials, making entries in her data pad as they spoke, and one of the precious seeds was placed in the container and immersed in the nutrient bath.

"Now we wait," said Porter.

"And look around for some lettuce," added Baker with a grin.

----------

"When did Chameleon tell you?"

Starbuck had been waiting for it. They only had a few more levels before they reached the Science Lab, and as soon as they had entered the quiet lift, he had a feeling Apollo would start asking questions. The captain did not disappoint him.

"Yesterday . . . no . . . the day before." The lieutenant shook his head, feeling as though he had lost a day somewhere. "Sorry, been in a kind of vortex lately. When did he tell _you_?"

"Just before he came to see you today," Apollo replied, watching his friend fidget in his discomfort. "You kept it kind of . . . _quiet_, buddy." He still recalled Starbuck's uncontained exuberance the first time around when he had thought Chameleon might be his father. He'd been like a kid on his natal day. Then again, it wasn't like Starbuck had celebrated a natal day since he was a tot. This more subdued Starbuck was almost a little disheartening to behold.

"Things on my mind," Starbuck murmured, glancing at his chrono and then pushing his hair from his eyes. He smiled slightly. "Busy tossing my mushies mostly. In between being kidnapped, put to slave labour, and having my gut sliced open, twice, I haven't had a lot of time."

"Right." Apollo replied with a sniff and a shake of his head, almost forgetting the lieutenant hadn't exactly been at his best despite how fit he appeared now. "If you want to talk about it . . . "

"No . . . " Starbuck looked around the lift, his eyes finally settling on Apollo's. There was far too much compassion in his searching look, as the captain tried to draw him out. "We're working it out. We'll get there."

"Where?" Apollo asked quietly.

"I'm not sure." Starbuck admitted. "Find out when I was born . . . my original given name . . ." He shrugged, as though it could all wait for now.

Apollo nodded and then looked thoughtful before he asked, "Would you change your name?"

Starbuck sniffed in amusement. "Hadn't really thought about it." Then he grimaced. "What if it's _worse_ than 'Starbuck'?"

"Looking on the bright side, there can't be too many names out there that _are_ worse than 'Starbuck'." Apollo gibed him as the lift door opened.

"Well, we can't _all_ be named after Earth gods," Starbuck returned, preceding him from the lift.

"_What_?" Apollo asked, following him to the Lab, surprised that Starbuck was aware of the coincidence. "Did Dayton tell you that? That 'Apollo' was a god in some ancient Earth culture?" He recalled the Earthman telling the Council the same, but hadn't had the opportunity to find out more. "Some bunch called the . . . uh, Geeks." His brow furrowed in concentration. "Or maybe Greeks. Something like that."

"Ryan told me actually. 'The God of the Dance', I think he said." Starbuck grinned back at his friend, trying to equate the captain with two left feet as being _God of the Dance_. It would make one Hades of a humorous musical, especially starring Apollo. "Oh, and the _God of the Plague_ too." He added for good measure as he entered the Lab.

"You're full of felger," Apollo muttered tolerantly, whacking the other's arm, but not quite sure . . .

"On my honour," Starbuck averred, hand over heart. "There could have been some more . . . _intellectual_ aspects of his Godliness, but I can't remember them right now. Must be the aftereffects of the dicholorionmethane toxicity," he grinned.

"Yeah, Dr. Salik mentioned there might be some aftereffects," Apollo nodded with a mischievous glint in his eyes, squeezing his friend's arm. "Like your sudden memory lapse. But not to worry, he said your sexual function would return within a sectar, and after your hair fell out, it had a fifty-fifty chance of growing back in again."

"God of _Lies_ . . ." Starbuck chuckled, pulling free.

"Captain Apollo, Lieutenant Starbuck, I'm all ready for you, sirs." Hummer beamed from his work station.

"Hey, Hummer, what did you come up with?" Starbuck asked striding to the work station.

"I think you'll be pleased with the result." Between thumb and forefinger the technician held up a tiny, round, silver cell about a quarter the size of a cubit. "It has a marker beacon as well as a microphone, so not only can we hear everything that's going on, we can also trace your every movement, Lieutenant." Hummer grinned. He put it down, picking up a small flesh-coloured device and turning towards Apollo. "This is the receiver. We can mold it to fit perfectly in your ear canal, Captain. The range is approximately four hundred metrons."

"Where do you suggest we put the transceiver?" Apollo picked up the tiny cell. "Fausto's clever."

"It's implantable." Hummer smiled ear to ear.

"Come again?" Starbuck muttered with a frown.

"Implantable." Hummer confirmed. "That way, _if_ you were discovered, it would never be found. Just a tiny slit in the hairline which we immediately laser mend after insertion." He tapped behind his own ear to illustrate the desired location and then pointed at the laser mender at his work station.

"And it won't be affected by blood or serous fluids?" Apollo asked, clearly impressed.

"That's the expectation, but I admit, I'd like to implant it today and test it out." Hummer looked eagerly from captain to lieutenant and back again. Starbuck was looking at him as though he had started sprouting strange and uniquely coloured foliage from all visible orifices. "What?" he asked the warrior.

"You want to cut me open and put that thing _in_ me?" Starbuck asked in disbelief, instinctively raising a hand to the side of his neck. He looked at Apollo a little desperately, "Is this some kind of joke?"

Apollo raised his hands innocently. "It could be a benefit. If you _did_ get discovered, at least we would know what was going on, and they'd never find the transceiver by frisking you." He paused, looking back to Hummer. "What if they used a detection device like they do in Fausto's office?"

"Well, the scanner we planted in Commander Dayton's old coin has told us that Fausto's people do two rather foolish things. One, they scan the rooms using a set array of frequencies. Always the same ones, and always at the same intensities. That, and they scan the place on a regular basis every two days, like chronowork. Lieutenant Starbuck can infiltrate the target area just after one of those scans, so he will be less likely to trip anything. If he is discovered, the implanted device can detect an attempted scan, and go into passive mode until the scan is done. The chances of the implanted scanner being discovered without a physical search is remote at best."

"Let's hope Fausto's thugs don't decide to shave my head, eh?" Starbuck quipped.

"If your hair falls out on schedule, they won't have to." Apollo rejoined with a smile before again addressing the tech. This time his concern was evident. "So, Hummer, you're saying we'll lose Starbuck's signal if the transceiver goes into passive mode?"

"For the few microns it would take to do the scan is all." Hummer nodded. "How about it, Lieutenant? Are you up for a test run?" The technician held up a laser scalpel.

"Just a centon . . . " Starbuck murmured, holding up his hands in self-defense and starring in horror at the scalpel. He took a step back. Shaking his head at the mere thought of some technician lacking any medical designation cutting him open and inserting _anything_, he tried to come up with something that might preclude the procedure. Immediately, he thought ahead to his romantic rendezvous with a certain beautiful ensign in the Celestial Dome. Yep, time to move up from Fitness Center equipment closets now that they were betrothed. "Look, Hummer, I have plans tonight that really wouldn't be _conducive_ to an audience."

"Sir?" Hummer shook his head in confusion, waiting for an explanation.

Starbuck looked at him in incredulity. The tech was a wiz in electronics, but a bit deficient in understanding personal relationships. "I have a date."

"Oh, well, that's really not a problem, Lieutenant. I'm more interested in actual signal disruptions than specifically what's being said. That's what I'll be monitoring." Hummer reassured him nodding energetically.

"Look, kid, I'm hoping the signals _I'm_ going to be sending aren't going to register on _your_ monitor," Starbuck grinned, shooting a glance at Apollo who was watching Hummer sympathetically . . . or so it appeared.

"It's very sensitive, Lieutenant, I can assure you . . . " Hummer paused, and his face began to glow red to the tips of his ears. "Uh . . . I think I understand now, sir."

"I think maybe you do," Starbuck nodded, wondering if they should hose the scarlet tech off with some boraton. "At least I hope so. I'll drop by tomorrow. We can do a test flight then."

"Uh . . . well . . . I guess that will have to do," Hummer murmured. "The earlier the better, sir."

"Yep." Starbuck agreed. "Believe me, if it wasn't for my date, I'm gladly let you cut my throat and stuff it with electronic felgercarb." He waved a hand helplessly. "Anything in the name of duty."

Hummer, to his credit, looked as though he didn't quite believe the lieutenant's words.

"Apollo mentioned you were trying to figure out Fausto's password. Any luck?"

"I wouldn't call it luck, sir." Hummer sniffed with a smile. "But yes, it seems the current password is 'Vere Celen'. It's some kind of mythological dragon, strangely enough."

Apollo looked to Starbuck who looked both surprised and pleased. "Good work, Hummer. How did you figure it out?" the captain asked.

"From the transceiver feed in his office. As you know, we didn't have a visual on his computer, just on the desk. But I realized that the screen and keyboard on Fausto's computer were actually reflected in the face of the chrono on his wall _behind_ his desk. I zoomed in with a digital video enhancer and then flipped the image." Hummer explained.

"Perfect. Now I won't be fumbling to input the password. Great job," Starbuck congratulated him. "Did you get anything else on what he was inputting?"

"As you can imagine, it's tedious at best trying to figure it out that way. Mostly he was going through receipts for his ledgers." Hummer admitted. "Generally, he focused on mundane office stuff today, the odd time that I checked. I'm afraid I just don't have the extra time to dedicate to this . . . especially in view of the fact that you'll have his data base tomorrow."

"Fair enough," Apollo nodded. "So, I guess that's it. We're ready to go."


	83. Chapter 83

Part Eighty-Three

That slightly mystical place, that _Holiest of Holies_ of feminine secrets, that housed every single, female warrior on the _Galactica_. It really didn't look much different than the men's billet—Starbuck knew that from previous personal experience, once boldly entering the inner sanctum post Destruction to find and speak with Athena—but the fact that the opposite sex lived there seemed to give it a special status, at least among the men. He stood outside, letting out a deep breath, and with it a bit of impatience, as he awaited Luana, inadvertently scratching at his hairline where the transceiver had been implanted late that morning.

"Is this where the desperate, single men congregate?" A voice asked.

The lieutenant turned to see Ryan approaching. The Earthman was dressed unusually, to say the least. His pants were black, and had a black stripe of a slightly shiny material running down the outside of the seam on both legs. His white shirt was a stark contrast to the black jacket and pants, and he had a strange little black decoration tied at his throat that looked like it should adorn a natal day gift, not a man. His black shoes were polished to a military sheen that would have Colonel Tigh nodding in approval. However, the long, grey hair tied back off his neck would have him stripped and moduled in a heartbeat.

"Best seat in the house, Ryan," Starbuck grinned, and waved a hand towards the man. "Nice duds."

"Dayton's idea." Ryan nodded, turning in a circle with arms held out. He undid a single fastener on the jacket and held it open to reveal a pleated, decorative black sash around his slim waist. "It's a damn good replica of an Earth 'tuxedo'. That's formal wear for men from where we come from. Usually for evenings out and such."

Starbuck nodded, walking around the Earthman. "Still looks like a Simian suit to me," he chuckled wryly. He folded his dress cape back over a shoulder.

"Your dress uniform?" Ryan asked, taking in the Colonial Warrior.

"Yep." Starbuck agreed, copying the other and turning around to show off his own formal attire, his cape billowing behind him. "Typical military. Un-tuck the tunic. Add a cape. Keeps the cost down." He added wryly.

"Not exactly the Red Serge." Ryan agreed, remembering the historical scarlet formal dress coat of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police in contrast to their bland, everyday beige dress shirts and black pants. "All the same, it's dashing in a superhero sort of way. I especially like the cape. And this is interesting." He fingered the intricate gold necklace on the lieutenant's chest. "You must have to be pretty damn secure in your own sexuality to go out in public wearing that." Ryan winked at him. "It looks Egyptian. Armani do this? Maybe a King Tut knock-off?"

"Get off," Starbuck muttered, pushing the intrusive hands away. Honestly, the dress medallion was his least favourite part of the dress uniform, often dangling awkwardly and simply getting in his way during the inevitable seduction scene that usually followed Starbuck wearing his dress uniform. But tradition was tradition. The original Lords of Kobol had worn similar, but much more substantial collars, often of worked auric and bedecked with jewels, both as symbols of wealth and power, as well as for the protective nature of the wide band covering the throat. Now it was a prestigious symbol that the Colonial Service had maintained for well over a millennia, decorating their officers and setting them apart from the rest of the non-commissioned warriors with that and the braided gold band on the edge of their dress capes. The combination was a magnet to the opposite sex, in his humble opinion He adjusted the dress medallion as he considered Ryan's last remark. "Egyptian? Aren't those the Ancients who built your pyramids?"

"Well, the ones that look like those on Kobol. There were other civilizations building pyramids on Earth, some close to Egypt, like the Sumerians, others thousands of miles, and in some cases thousands of years, away, like the Mayans or the Moche, but the Egyptians were probably the most famous for it. Hell, we even had a few modern day pyramids in _our_ culture. One of the casinos in Las Vegas, the Luxor, was a pyramid. Now if you like gambling, Starbuck, you would _love_ Vegas. Hell, you'd eat it alive . . ."

Starbuck watched Ryan's eyes grow wide with appreciation as the Earthman's gaze trained on the entrance to the billet and his tongue ceased wagging. The warrior turned to see Dietra decked out as he had never seen her before. Her golden dress fell off her shoulders, gathering at her slender waist and then softly caressed her curvaceous hips before flaring outwards into gentle folds of material. Her dark complexion seemed to glow as she nodded approvingly at the Earthman's _tuxedo_. Starbuck let out a low whistle between his teeth, grinning as she raised her eyebrows and turned a brief tolerant look at him before stopping before Ryan.

"Dietra . . ." Ryan cleared his throat. "I think I'm speechless . . . " He shook his head slightly as he beheld her.

She smiled, "That would be a first, Paddy." She tucked her hand into his proffered arm. "You look very handsome in your Earth uniform. Shall we?"

"Dee, give me some hope," Starbuck begged her, interrupting them. "Is Lu anywhere _near_ approaching ready?"

"Why don't you ask her yourself?" Dee nodded her head towards the entrance with a light laugh.

He turned, opening his mouth to eat his words, but not a sound came out. Luana simply took his breath away.

Starbuck realized in an instant that he had never seen Luana before in anything other than pants, tunic and boots, whether on her native planet or while in the Fleet. Of course, he had seen her completely naked—as recently as the night before in the Celestial Dome, he reminded himself with a grin—but sometimes the subtle, sensuous way that a woman's dress clung to her curves, teasing and tantalizing his senses, was often even more alluring than the final unveiling . . . not that he would ever admit that aloud.

Lu's brown hair was swept up off her neck in an elegant knot, loose tendrils lightly caressing her face and neck. Her dark eyes seemed to sparkle, her fine features relaxing in a smile as his eyes devoured her. Her long gown was ivory coloured and unadorned, the gathered bodice clinging to her bust and waist, leaving her shoulders and arms bare, and the silky material clinging to her narrow hips and shapely legs with a slight flare below the knee. Dainty high-heeled shoes completed the outfit.

"You like?" Luana asked, circling him slowly and running a finger along his jaw line, barely noticing Ryan and Dietra departing for the launch bay.

Starbuck craned his neck to follow her progress before his brain kicked in and he realized he could actually just move his feet and turn his body to follow her . . . _anywhere_. "Sagan, Lu . . . you're . . . " he licked his lips, shaking his head at the transformation . . . and his apparent inability to think of anything even remotely charming to say as he ogled her like a naïve and stunned schoolboy about to score for the first time.

"Sweet talker . . ." she teased him, almost relieved that his reaction was from the heart, and not some line he had used with countless women before. She smiled as his arms enfolded her and he pulled her against him, looking searchingly in her eyes. "It's still me," she reassured him.

"You're so beautiful," he breathed, before kissing her lightly.

"I'm not sure I like the fact that you sound so surprised by that . . ." she returned with a smile.

"I . . . uh . . . didn't mean . . ." He looked uncertain. Almost worried.

"Starbuck?"

"Huh?"

"Stop drooling."

"Uh. . .I . . ."

She giggled in return. "I don't think I've ever seen you so . . . tongue-tied. Hmm, I wonder . . . " She leaned forward, nibbling on his lower lip before kissing him sensuously, tasting the lingering flavour of a recent fumarello and noticing the slightly smoky aroma that mixed with his cologne. Later, she knew, it would either be mixed with ambrosa or Empyrean Ale. A taste and scent that was distinctly Starbuck. She ran her fingers through his hair, loving the intimacy of the moment, knowing that only _she_ had that right now.

"Get a room." An amused voice told them, passing by.

Starbuck sniffed, pulling back slightly, fingering a tendril of her hair. "I wish," he muttered. So far their 'bed chambers' had been less than elegant, and she deserved so much more.

"I guess it's equipment rooms and Celestial Domes for now," Luana smiled wryly, her arms around his neck. "I don't mind. As long as we can be together."

"Ironic, isn't it?" Starbuck shrugged. "Sanitation Techs are provided better quarters than Colonial Warriors. Or at least they have more privacy."

"I thought fraternization was dissuaded. Maybe that's why _we're_ in billets." Luana mused aloud, recalling briefly reading that in her training. Oddly her flight instructor . . . Starbuck . . . hadn't dwelt on it.

"Yeah, well, my feelings for you are far from _fraternal_, so I guess we're all right." Starbuck replied with a grin. "Besides, if the Strike Captain can openly fraternize, there's not much he can say about the rest of us." Not that Apollo hadn't tried, Starbuck recalled their heated discussion in the launch bay just before they blasted off to the asteroid field. But that seemed to have more to do with Luana's age and naivety than her status as a Colonial Warrior.

"Was Apollo upset about us being together?" Luana asked, feeling a little hurt, despite the fact that she knew that Apollo considered Cassiopeia as being among his circle of friends.

Starbuck sighed, considering his reply. "I think he was just concerned about . . . my reputation. He didn't know how I felt about you." He shrugged. "I wasn't exactly forthcoming about it." Truthfully, Starbuck hadn't even admitted his depth of emotion for Luana to himself at that point. It had taken her near-death experience to make him realize just how much he cared for her.

"Remind me, just exactly how _do_ you feel about me?" Lu teased him.

He grinned at her playfulness before replying, "I love you."

"Hmm." She nodded, again playing with his hair at the nape of his neck.

"Just 'hmm'. Is that all you have to say?" he asked her with a smirk. There was no doubt in his mind how this woman felt about him. Everyone else had known for sectars. Only _he_ had been blind. But no longer.

"I think you're cute," she offered.

"Cute?" he asked in mock outrage, scratching again at the transceiver. "Baby daggits are _cute_."

"I think you're cuter than a baby daggit . . ." Luana nodded encouragingly.

"Lords, save me . . ." Starbuck muttered.

". . . marginally. . ." She added with a grin, laughing at his apparent dismay.

"Oh, get a room you two!" shouted someone from around the corner. "Please!"

"Let's get out of here." Starbuck took her hand. "My ego's had all it can take."

"Oh, I think there's still room for . . ."

He winced, pulling her behind him, knowing he had finally met his match. Still, he couldn't help but smile as her delightful laughter filled the air.

----------

Adama could see the glow of the engines from the two shuttles carrying the pirates and the refugees, as they finally departed for Axius. It had come as a bit of a surprise when Lieutenant Sheba had made contact with the bridge as she orbited Axius. She proceeded to inform them that the two ensigns, Drina and Varick, had been injured in an accident, and that Captain Bojay had remained with them, sending her back up into orbit to communicate with the _Galactica_.

Sheba had confirmed the commander's strong suspicion when she admitted that she felt the Axians would hold the three Colonial Warriors until their women, and likewise their erstwhile oppressors, were delivered to them. The town's people had already begun building the gallows for the pirates, so it was plain how they planned to deal with the men who had apprehended their young women. . . 'after a fair tribunal', their representative, Finn, had assured them.

It left him with a bad taste in his mouth, knowing he was sending those men to their death. Even Starbuck's report of his brutal treatment at the hand of the pirates couldn't completely erase the unease he was now experiencing, knowing full well that the tribunal's conclusion had already been decided by the families of the abducted and abused women.

And now the peace envoy he had sent were being held as hostages, ensuring the Commander went ahead with his plan to relinquish custody of the pirates. He forced himself to think of his own daughter, and wondered if he would do anything differently should he and Finn's roles be reversed.

It took him about a micron to realize he wouldn't.

----------

The _Journey to Earth_ party was already in full swing when Starbuck and Luana arrived at the _Rising Star_'s chancery. Already, he felt a hundred percent better than the day before. Something about the ambience of a gambling chancery always affected him like this. The sounds, the flashing lights, the clinking of cubits and glasses, the music: the kind of excitement you could almost reach out and grab . . . it never failed to arouse him.

Starbuck smiled as he noticed Commander Dayton in his _tuxedo_ surrounded by a circle of guests, most of them dignitaries from a variety of ships in the Fleet. Hades, it looked a bit like the Earthman was engulfed in a Cylon Pinwheel attack. As he looked around he could see little in the way of 'the common folk', other than himself, Dietra and Chameleon, unless he counted the Earthmen who were far from 'common' by his standards. A party that had ended up being for the 'elite', attracting the kind of cubits that would pay for the House's investment well before the night was over. Sagan, even _Apollo_ hadn't received an invitation! It was the kind of snob fest that would have at one time intimidated the lieutenant . . . not that he would have ever let on back then. Yahrens of military functions had conditioned him to mingle with them all. The upper crust to the gutter trash.

Not that the difference was always that great.

"Cassiopeia is here," Luana murmured, sounding surprised.

Starbuck looked back towards Dayton, seeing Cassie join him, tucking her arm into his. Dayton paused in conversation to smile down at her, his face lighting up at her return. Lords, he looked like he had it bad already. _Seriously_ terminal! Then he noticed Sire Dracus across from the Earthman. Starbuck grinned mischievously, "Let's go say hello."

"Uh . . . is that a good idea?" Luana murmured, feeling him tug her along behind him.

Starbuck rubbed his neck as he crossed the room. The damn transceiver was making him itch. Just his luck that he'd turn out to be allergic to the fracking thing. "I _only_ have good ideas," he replied lightly, hearing her disbelieving snort from beside him. "In fact, did I ever tell you about the time that I saved the entire Fleet, when I . . ."

"Many times," she grinned. "Alright, let's go."

"Commander Dayton," Starbuck greeted him as they entered the fray.

"Lieutenant Starbuck," Dayton nodded at him coolly, maintaining their facade. "I believe you know Miss Cassiopeia."

It was on the tip of his tongue to say he didn't 'miss' her much, but Cassie's obvious nervousness about what the unpredictable former lover would do at that moment reined in his natural tendency. If it wasn't for the fact that she was already staring at Dayton with that tender look in her eyes that he had thought was exclusively for _him_ . . . well, he _might_ have felt sorry for her. "Of course," Starbuck replied, feeling Dracus' eyes on him. "You look beautiful tonight, Cass," he nodded politely. _Stiffly _polite. Cassiopeia smiled tentatively in return, still looking awkward and a little uncertain. As if she couldn't quite believe he was being civil.

"I wasn't sure you'd make it . . . Lieutenant." The formal greeting was more for the frown that had crossed Dayton's face at the unexpected compliment.

"Yes, I heard you had some troubles in the Life Station, Lieutenant Starbuck. Unexpected complications, was it?" Sire Dracus added in concern.

"Incidental, Sire Dracus. I'm fine." Starbuck returned, pulling Luana further into the circle she had been hovering just outside of. "Commander Dayton, this is Luana. My betrothed."

"My pleasure," Dayton smiled sincerely at the young woman who had been through so much, and yet had recovered so quickly. He squeezed Cassiopeia's hand, feeling her stiffen at his side. "I understand that you're a princess. Royalty."

"_Reformed_ princess, Commander Dayton," Luana replied with a grin. "Now I'm just a Colonial Warrior, which is a kind of royalty all its own, actually." She looked at Starbuck, and smiled playfully. "At least that's what _Emperor_ Starbuck keeps telling me."

Starbuck held her gaze for a moment, seeing the devilry in her eyes, before the excited chattering of a Siress in Luana's ear distracted her. The word 'princess' was all it took for every female present—excluding Cassiopeia, oddly enough—to pull the former princess aside and begin bombarding her with questions about the upcoming 'Imperial Wedding'. Starbuck chuckled as she sent him a pained look before returning her attention to the society slaves.

"Where's your Strike Captain, Lieutenant?" Sire Dracus inquired. "I don't see him here this evening."

"On duty, I'd expect," Starbuck replied, knowing that Apollo was in the _Rising Star's _Security Office monitoring the conversation. "He didn't get an invitation, so I'm told. If I was back on the flight roster, I'd probably be with him."

"Then you're not cleared for duty quite yet?" Dracus raised an eyebrow.

"_Light_ duty." Starbuck smiled meaningfully at him. So far their professional association hadn't exactly been smooth. "Doctor Salik insists I give my insides another few days to finish healing. I'm back to being the 'Official Liaison Officer' for now."

"Oh, then I expect that you've replied to my messages by now. They _were_ marked 'urgent'. I was just telling Commander Dayton of my plan to arrange some appearances by the Earthmen for our children during their instructional periods."

Starbuck merely nodded, having not had the opportunity or the will to even _open_ all of Sire Dracus' messages the last couple days. He must have waded through at least a hundred messages from various interested parties, calling on the Earthmen to do everything from speak at private functions to allow action figures to be made in their likeness.

"Well, I did read a number of them, Sire. Unfortunately, more often than not I was shot up with a variety of drugs, and after the catheter was yanked out, every time I read the word 'urgent' I felt an incredible impulse to race to the turbo flush." He almost laughed aloud at the incredulity and subsequent repugnance on the bureautician's face. "Still, I think having them talk to the kids is a winner." Actually, he had read _that _one. Most of the others he had forwarded on to Chameleon.

"Sounds like a good idea," Dayton nodded. "Been a long time since I was in a classroom. Of any sort."

"Were you a teacher?" asked Sire Dracus.

"Oh no, not really, although my father was a University Professor. Uh . . . what I think you call an 'Academician'. As an astronaut, I did lecture in a few public schools, and taught aerospace engineering for a year . . . er, yahren . . . at the Air Force Academy."

"Sounds most interesting, Commander," replied the Sire. "How does Earth science compare with our own?"

"Well, we don't have ships anywhere near as fast as yours, although a number of nations were engaged in advanced research in a variety of new technologies. A new system for generating artificial gravity was slated to be tested aboard the Space Station a few months after our . . . our incident. I'm anxious to learn more about your level of technology, especially in astrophysics. That's one of my specialties."

"Well, we need all the scientists we can get in the Fleet," said Dracus.

"We certainly do," agreed Cassie. "We managed to rescue so few when the Colonies were destroyed. Having Commander Dayton lecture the students would be wonderful."

"Sounds like I've been elected," said Dayton. "How about it, Creamice?" he grinned at Starbuck. "Think Commander Adama will go for it?"

"I doubt the Service would mind, but I guess we'll find out," Starbuck shrugged, massaging his neck with one hand, as the itch intensified.

"Creamice?" Sire Dracus asked with brows furrowed, looking between the commander and lieutenant.

"One of my many aliases," Starbuck shrugged good-naturedly. "Apparently my name is considered quite amusing on Earth."

"Aliases? That sounds . . . nefarious," Dracus returned perplexed, his eyes narrowing slightly. "A bit too nefarious for a man who's Liaison Officer for the military. It makes me think you have something else on your _personal _agenda, but I'm not certain what that would be." Dracus paused for a moment, looking pointedly at Luana, and then in Fausto's direction, before slowly returning his attention to the Colonial Warrior. "However, I am sure that I'm not altogether comfortable with it, so I _do_ hope you're joking, Lieutenant. I would hate to think your loyalties are divided between duty and personal revenge." He raised an eyebrow in question.

"Don't concern yourself, Dracus," Starbuck replied vaguely and a little abruptly, wondering how the Hades Hole Dracus had figured out that Fausto was responsible for the attack on Luana. Then again, the bureautician was well connected with everyone who _was_ anyone in the Fleet, and had probably collected his own information on Fausto and realized how far his syndicate spread. As he followed the Councilman's line of sight, Starbuck noticed that Chameleon was now speaking with Fausto and Aquila. Not much longer . . . "Somehow I don't see our _relationship_ continuing for that much longer."

"Really?" Dracus drawled, studying the other closely.

Starbuck nodded, alarm bells going off at the back of his mind at the other's tone. Of course, they weren't the _advanced_ kind of early warning system that explained why his instinct was telling him to be alert. "As soon as I'm fit enough to be back in a Viper . . ."

A horrific yell, somewhat akin to an ancient battle cry, muffled his words and everyone in the room swung their attention to the poker tables. There Dickins was standing erect, fists clenched and arms thrust into the air, as he yowled at the top of his lungs.

"What the frack . . ." Starbuck murmured, but his eyes followed Chameleon as he _brushed_ past Fausto making his way to the Earthman, his 'charge'.

"I think he won," Dayton surmised, smiling at Dickins' _distraction_. "He certainly seems pleased with himself." The rest of the room stood mutely awaiting the outcome, eyes glued to the Earthman.

"Do you think he could endeavour to win a little more _quietly_ next time?" Starbuck asked sarcastically while he moved to join Chameleon as the official Liaison Officer.

"I doubt it," Dayton grinned, watching the lieutenant stride towards his friend.

----------

"This could be it." Apollo told Willem as he listened to Starbuck's transmission from the _Rising Star_'s Security Office. "Code word, 'endeavour'. We're going in." He nodded at Boomer who was already half way to the door.

"How's your reception, Captain?" Willem, the Security Officer, asked the warrior while tapping his ear. He had an identical receiver to Apollo's in his own ear canal. Lia looked on, curious as to the response.

"There's some fading. I've lost the signal a couple times," Apollo replied in concern as he turned towards the chancery offices. "It sounds like interference of some kind."

"Yeah, same here." Will nodded.

"I wonder what's interfering with the signal."

"Well Boomer, there are a lot of cable trunks running through the spaces behind Fausto's rooms." Willem replied. "Transformers and such. That's bound to interfere, especially with all the power they're sucking for the Earth party."

"Yeah. Too bad we didn't have the chance to test it out overnight to work out any problems." Boomer added, adjusting the volume in his receiver. "It _is_ new technology."

Apollo nodded his agreement, shaking his head that Starbuck had put his love life ahead of his potential safety. Then again, why was he surprised by that? "Hindsight," he muttered.

----------

"Chameleon, what in Hades Hole is going on?" Starbuck grabbed the old man's arm as he joined him at the poker tables. Dickins was raking in a huge pile of cubits with an enormous grin on his face. He was jabbering away in Earth talk to Porter, and the languatron couldn't begin to keep up with him, although the word _Vegas_ was repeated often.

"Don't fret, Lieutenant. Captain Dickins just became a little excited when he won." Chameleon reassured the Liaison Officer as he patted his arm in consolation. He leaned conspiratorially close to the other. "A Royal Flush. I understand a hand like that is extremely rare. The odds are about 1 in 2000."

"Really?" Starbuck asked, his interest piqued, as he felt Chameleon slip Fuasto's ID card into his fingers. He surreptitiously pocketed it, as he looked over the table seeing the unusual cards that he had wanted to learn about but simply hadn't had the time. The rest of the people at the table were practically vibrating, infused with excitement from Dickins' win. It was contagious. _Later, Bucko._ A tentative hand touched his arm. He turned.

"Starbuck . . ." Luana murmured, brushing tendrils of hair back from her face with a shaky hand. She winced slightly, rubbing her temple. "I'm not feeling so well all of a sudden. Could you take me back to the docking lounge?"

"What is it? What's wrong?" he demanded , his hand resting lightly on her arm as he studied her in concern.

"I just suddenly have this _headache_ . . ." She shook her head, closing her eyes, feeling his arm come around her in support. She leaned against him, smiling regrettably, "And I can't even blame the ambrosa."

"Headache, huh?" he half-smiled. "Does this mean no . . ."

"Starbuck! Please," she tried not to laugh, in spite of herself, then winced as another jab of pain lanced through her skull.

"I'm taking her back to the _Galactica'_s Life Station, Chameleon." Starbuck told his father. The conman's eyes widened in surprise and he shook his head mutely.

"Really, Starbuck. I'll be fine. It's your responsibility to be _here_ with Commander Dayton and his crew. Just get me to the docking lounge." Luana suggested, looking between father and son.

Starbuck shook his head stubbornly. "Lu . . ."

"It would be quicker to take her to the Life Station here." Chameleon interjected. This _wasn't_ part of the plan.

"I don't need the frackin' Life Station," Luana snapped, drawing a few glances of disapproval. Thankfully, there weren't any Empyreans about who were inclined to swoon at the first hint of profanity.

"Easy, Lu . . ." Starbuck murmured, beginning to gently guide her through the chancery, feeling Chameleon's eyes on them the entire way. "C'mon, I'm getting you out of here."

"That's what I _asked_ you to do, if you recall," she murmured irritably, clinging to him as images flashed through her mind every time she closed her eyes. Images she didn't _want_ to see. Or remember. Borka. Kaden. Oriana. . . She stumbled against him. "Damn shoes . . ."

"I've got you," he murmured, lifting her easily into his arms, cradling her against his chest, ignoring the curious looks around them. He could feel his heart pounding as his concern grew with each passing micron. "What's going on, Lu?"

"It's . . . coming back." She gasped, shaking her head as memories seemed to surge forth from the confines of deep within her mind. "Starbuck . . ."

"_What's_ coming back?" His voice panicked. His pace quickening. His fear for her growing.

"My . . . memory." She replied, clinging to him. Everything that Oriana had told her about Fausto and Myrddin. Their subsequent trip to the _Malocchio_. Being discovered in Myrddin's quarters by Borka and Kaden. Oriana slumping lifelessly to the floor after being shot. The burning pain that Borka's blade caused as he slit Lu's throat. Each and every memory pummeled her as though she was caught in a rip tide. Wave after wave bombarded her. She couldn't catch her breath.

"Lu! Look at me!"

Her eyes snapped open to stare into Starbuck's determined features. Somehow they had ended up on the deck in a deserted corridor. He held her gently against him as he kneeled, tenderly brushing aside her hair and then trailing his fingers down her cheek. There was something so . . . comforting about his touch. It grounded her in a way she couldn't understand, as she focused solely on her man.

"You're all right now. No matter what happened _then_, you're all right _now_." He pulled her closer, intent on helping her through the traumatic recollection of the events. Dr. Salik had warned him this might happen. "You'll get through it. I'm going to help you. Every step of the way. I promise."

"I know . . ." she replied quietly, looking at him in wonder. How could she have ever thought that Starbuck would turn tale and run if things ever became too serious between them? _Something that Athena and Cassiopeia had once said in a shuttle from Alrin perhaps, Lu?_ Lords, she had underestimated him. She had never even considered he could feel the same intensity of emotion for her that she did for him. "But not now, Starbuck. Help me to get to the Life Station or the docking lounge, but _you_ have somewhere to be right now." She reminded him. "So much depends on it."

Starbuck looked at her in disbelief. Her memories had come flooding back, hitting her hard like a breaching dam, but she was already prepared to put aside her own concerns so he could finish his mission. The clap of Colonial boots coming down the corridor signaled the arrival of his backup . . . though this wasn't exactly going to plan.

Apollo, Boomer and Lia rounded the corner at a run. Lia immediately dropped to her knees beside her sister. Apollo and Boomer hovered above the other three.

"Are you okay?" Lia asked Luana, looking her over critically.

Lu nodded drawing a deep, if ragged breath. "I am now," she murmured, nodding at Starbuck. She had felt as though the very demons of Hades Hole had been residing in her skull, and had risen up collectively, bursting forth and wildly riding neural pathways as they attempted to destroy her psyche . . . not to mention rupture her skull. _Stop dramatizing, Lu, you have a headache._ She smiled at them reassuringly, but couldn't shake the niggling thought at the back of her mind that there was something she should be telling them.

"I'll take her to the Life Station to get checked over." Lia told the men.

Apollo and Boomer leaned down, pulling the young ensign to her feet. Apollo then gave Starbuck an arm up, not missing the slight wince from his friend when tender stomach muscles protested the movement.

"You okay?" Apollo asked.

"Fine," Starbuck nodded, his eyes on Luana. "You're sure you'll be alright?"

"Yes." Luana squeezed his hand gently. "Besides, now you have an excuse to have left the party."

"You're very pragmatic, Luana." Boomer chuckled.

Starbuck rubbed his neck as he smiled at her. "Lu, did I ever . . ."

"What did you just _do_?" Apollo demanded, interrupting him as the captain touched his ear with his index finger, noting the transmission had once again cleared.

"_What_?" Starbuck asked in confusion.

"Did you rub it?" Apollo asked. "We keep getting interference on the line."

"I . . . uh . . ." Starbuck shrugged, again touching the spot on his neck where the transceiver was implanted.

"That's it!" Boomer agreed, hearing the same distortion he had picked up a few times now. "What are you _doing_? You're not supposed to _rub_ it. _Lords_, Starbuck!"

"Just for the record, they're talking about my _neck_." Starbuck murmured for the benefit of Hummer and any Security Officers listening in. "It's . . . itchy."

"Let's see!" Apollo said, advancing on him.

Starbuck raked his fingers through his hair, then grudgingly pushed it back and out of the captain's way as Apollo examined the insertion site. "Well?" he murmured.

"It's red and a little bit swollen." Apollo palpated it gently. "Are you allergic to tylinium?"

"How should I know? I've never actually had it implanted in my body before." Starbuck replied ruefully, rubbing his neck once again as Apollo let go. What he really wanted to do was to scratch the Hades out of it. "At least not that I know of." Personally, he had his own suspicions about those early days of basic training at the Academy. One day you're your own man, and before you know it you're falling into line, responding mindlessly to orders as the drill sergeant bellowed at the top of his lungs. The transformation was kind of scary, especially for a guy who had always had a small problem with following specific directions. Maybe not so much a problem, as a mental block. There had to be some room for incorporating one's personal interpretation, after all.

"Well maybe we should have checked it out beforehand," remarked Boomer.

"The more you rub it, the itchier it will get." Apollo warned Starbuck. "It only exacerbates the condition."

"You're talking about my _neck_. Right?" Starbuck asked with a grin.

Boomer chuckled. Apollo looked at them tolerantly, half an eye on the very young _female_ ensigns. Luana was grinning too.

"Well, I can see this conversation is deteriorating to a level where all respectable individuals should be leaving." Lia muttered, a slight flush on her cheeks. "Good luck and be careful. Let's go, Lu." She took her sister's arm.

"I thought just the _respectable_ individuals were leaving," Luana returned lightly. Then suddenly it hit her. Like a bolt of lightening. The words that Borka had spoken to her while she was his prisoner, relaying his suspicions about Starbuck. Lords, it seemed like ages ago now. "Oh . . . my . . . God . . ."

"Lu?" Starbuck asked, immediately at her side as she went inexplicably pale. "What is it?" He held her lightly by the arms.

"Borka thought you _knew_ . . ." Luana replied, shaking her head as the scene replayed in her mind. "He thought _you_ put me up to it."

"Put you up to what?" Starbuck asked, his brow furrowing, all thoughts of tylinium, irritation, and respectability momentarily gone.

"Going after Fausto for the triad scandal. He thought you had already figured it out, Starbuck." She told him.

Starbuck looked between his lover and his friends.

"Is _that_ why he tried to kill you?" Boomer asked. It hadn't really made much sense at the time. Lords, dead bodies piling up like dirty laundry, and then two attempts on Starbuck. The whole fracking universe had gone crazy! And Fausto seemed to be behind it all . . . possibly.

"Well, I was hoping it wasn't personal." Starbuck muttered ironically.

Apollo looked at him seriously. "Maybe we should abort. If he suspected you all along, then . . ."

"Forget that!" Starbuck returned. "I've put . . . " he paused, blowing out an angry breath between clenched teeth. "_We've_ put too much frackin' work into this to give up before we even begin!"

"I don't like it." Apollo reiterated.

"I have Fausto's personal access card. I have his computer password. I have Hummer's itchy transceiver on me, as well as another in Fausto's office. _And_ I have you and Boomer backing me up." Starbuck reminded the captain. "To be any better protected you'd have to stuff me in Cylon armour and weld it shut."

Apollo hesitated, appearing to consider it. "Might not be a bad idea. Boomer?"

"Hey, the way the 'Starbuck Luck' has gone lately, I'm also willing to wrap him in bubble wrap and take out insurance." Boomer shrugged.

"_You're_ my insurance." Starbuck repeated stubbornly, looking between them. "Even if Fausto suspects that we're on to him, there's no fracking way in Hades Hole that he can know about the PAP program. A few centons is all I'll need." He let out another frustrated breath as they considered him indulgently. "_Help_ me out here."

Within a milli-centon Starbuck was already altering his plan, deciding how to proceed without them. Come Hades or high water . . . he was going to get his man. Fausto would regret the day he gave an order to kill Luana. He steeled himself for the captain's decision as Apollo let out a long sigh and prepared to respond.

One way or the other . . .


	84. Chapter 84

The corridors of the _Rising Star_'s chancery inner offices were strangely empty. Starbuck couldn't help but think that if Fausto had _really_ been expecting them to make some kind of move during the party that his people would be swarming the area, keeping it secure. As it was, the lieutenant had detected a notable presence in the actual chancery, although Guidobaldo was still conspicuously absent. It was one thing to have a strong suspicion that the Colonial Warrior was out to nail his hide to the first transport heading to the Prison Barge, and quite another to actually _know_ what Starbuck was up to, and that his efforts were all going to come to fruition this night after infiltrating the chancery head's office and computer system.

_Or end up down the turbo flush._

Yeah, it just seemed a little _too_ easy. He was at Fausto's office within less than a centon, and the appropriated ID card had him inside the private domain milli-centons later. He stood just inside the door, still as a rock, quietly assessing the room, trying to remember every break in he ever committed as a kid, and letting his eyes adjust to the relative darkness. The only light was that of a screen saver on Fausto's computer. The target.

He quietly closed the door, and skulked across the room, feeling a little ridiculous, since it was obviously empty. Circling around the desk and leaning over the keyboard, he knew he was now in the range of Hummer's transceiver, and he restrained himself from waving cheerfully. He stared at the gangster's screensaver a moment. Somehow, he would never have expected someone like Fausto to have images of wildflowers, animals, or his parents, on the saver. Assuming those two were his parents. Then again, they didn't look much like a long forgotten small time beauty queen and scum sucking career criminal. He probably just borrowed the likenesses from somewhere, preferring the respectable images over his _actual_ parents'. Sounded like something an orphan would do. _Oh well, we're all Human, _Starbuck shrugged, hitting the keys. It immediately prompted him for the password.

It _also_ began a ten micron countdown, and he fleetingly wondered if the system would self-destruct if he failed to enter the proper entry code in time. Or perhaps there was an alarm system he was unaware of rigged up to the chancery's security office. His respect for Fausto's security setup increased. Yeah, the crime boss was good, but Starbuck was better.

He hit the keys again, entering each letter in succession. V-e-r-e C-e-l-e-n. He entered the code with four microns to spare.

Leave it to a guy who ran a gambling chancery for a living to have his screen light up, and digital sounds like that of winning a jackpot to ring out across the room. . . keeping it in mind it was likely the _least _lucrative part of Fausto's income, most of his cubits coming from an array of other sidelines that would be revealed shortly when every file of the man's computer system exposing his wide array of criminal activities was transferred to the _Galactica_'s main computer. It sounded deafening in the quiet office space and he winced involuntarily, before quickly looking over the main screen and accessing the messaging system.

Now the only sound he could hear was the _tap tap tap_ as his fingers flitted across the keyboard and he sent his message to Corporal Komma. Not so much a message as just a trail to follow so Komma could send the PAP program straight back. Now Starbuck just had to receive it, open it, and the program would do the rest. If everything went smoothly, he'd be out of there in about five centons after deleting any trace of the transmission, and they could hand it all over to Colonial Security and the Chief Opposer's office. He looked over the office, the desk he sat behind situated at the back of the room, in full view of everything or anyone that might come through the door. The gunfighter's favorite position, he noted with an amused smile. He glanced at his chrono as he waited. Just over a centon. _Not bad, Bucko. Not bad at all._

A _beep_ indicated a message received. He nodded in satisfaction, recognizing Komma's predetermined code, 'Capstone'. He opened the message and sat back, knowing that though he couldn't detect that anything was happening for the moment, the program was now infiltrating the system. He checked the 'out' file and sure enough, file after file was already being forwarded to the massive main computer on the _Galactica _at blinding speed.

"Don't move."

The voice was low and the hair at the back of his neck stood up at the close proximity of the sound. The man was behind him. But how in Hades . . .?

The turbo flush.

The one place he _hadn't _considered. Someone lurking in the flusher. How the Hades Hole could he have overlooked something so _obvious_? He shook his head mutely as his hand moved slowly towards his blaster, beneath the camouflaging presence of his dress cape. The constipated criminal creeper. Just his luck.

"If I can't see both hands in a milli-centon, I'm going to blow the back of your fracking head off," the man informed him.

He had to be about thirty centimetrons away by the sound of his voice. Too far away for the warrior to attack. Also too far to see what was happening on screen.

"You do, and you won't have anything to tell your boss," replied Starbuck, trying to come up with a plan and simultaneously distract the man.

"Leave that to me!" rasped the other, with a hint of a laugh. "Hands over your head, or you ain't gonna have no head to put your hands over."

"I got to tell you, I still think it's a bad idea. So much you want to know. . . so little the incinerated head can tell you."

The other just shoved his weapon deeper into the warrior's skin, not appreciating his constructive criticism. Starbuck let out a breath, tediously raising his hands as directed, even though his heart was racing. His eyes were glued to the screen where the extraction process continued. He wasn't sure if this man would be aware of what was happening as files were copied and immediately extricated. He tapped a couple keys quickly, exiting that screen as his right hand passed the keyboard on the way up.

The blaster dug into the base of his skull. "_What did you do_?" The voice angry and accusative.

"Nothin'" Starbuck murmured, hands all the way up in surrender now, but head turning slightly to try and catch a glimpse of just who the aggressor was. He caught a hint of a reflection in the polished desk-top, but it was too dark to see . . .

"No, you don't!"

With that declaration, the back of Starbuck's head _did _explode. A faint groan escaped his lips as his world faded to blackness.

----------

"Where did he come from?" Boomer murmured as he listened to the exchange. He spoke into his communicator. "Apollo?"

"I hear you. He didn't pass by here, Boomer. He had to be in there already." The captain's voice assured him from his position. Between the two of them, they had both entrances covered to the inner offices and Apollo had the office in view.

"What's the word from Komma? Is it done?" Best case scenario; the download would be completed before they moved in. Too much depended on the information getting received for them to bust down doors and potentially destroy the information source. Starbuck would do all he could to ensure the information conduit was secured, even at his own expense.

"One centon."

One centon was too much time. Boomer heard the brief groan pass Starbuck's lips before that damned distortion hit the line again. If this guy had a blaster on Starbuck, ten to one that his friend had just been clobbered with it. Hades, after all the warrior had been through recently, how much more could his friend take? He started walking towards Fausto's office. "Apollo!" he pressed his communicator again.

"Just heard from Komma. Transfer is complete." Apollo returned. "Moving in now. I'll see you there."

----------

Dayton wasn't sure just _what_ it was that drew his eye to the Councilman at that moment, but for some reason he looked up from giving Cassiopeia her first private lesson at _Texas Hold 'Em_. Dracus was listening attentively to one of his aides off to the side. Dayton recognized the withered old man from the Council meeting he had attended.

Dracus' eyes then searched the room, settling on Fausto for a long moment. His look was one of pure hatred, the proverbial _if looks could kill. _Then, after a long moment, he scanned the room again. Dayton smiled down at the lovely Cassiopeia, feeling that penetrating gaze brush over him like some kind of radar, keeping an eye on him and his men . . . and constantly checking for some sign of the disappearing Lieutenant Starbuck.

Dracus had approached him personally, asking if Starbuck would be returning. The politician had seemed most insistent that Colonial Warrior was being irresponsible about abandoning his 'post' in favour of his betrothed who had been stricken with some inexplicable malady. Actually, Dracus had seemed irrationally agitated about the situation, and Dayton had decided there and then that the Councilman bore watching. And so he watched and waited, feigning a patience he didn't feel as the minutes passed by, while within Fausto's private office the plan unfolded. He glanced at his chrono wondering how it was going.

"Commander Dayton. Cassiopeia."

Dayton blinked. He had to look twice to see beyond the formal blue gown that accented her eyes, the carefully coiffed hair, the subtle but effective makeup that transformed the older woman into a regal vision of elegance.

"Ama?" he asked.

"Well, of course, dear heart." Ama returned with a demure smile, her gapped teeth concealed beneath delicately coloured lips.

"You look . . . "

"Different?" Ama asked, a fine brow arched in mockery. "Surely you can do better than that, Commander?"

"Enchanting." Dayton substituted smoothly. "Quite enchanting."

Ama chuckled. "I haven't been told _that_ for a very long time. Longer than I care to remember." Her eyes sparkled, lighting up her features with a vitality that she always seemed to embody, no matter her costume. She looked around the room. "A shame there's no one here to . . . ah!"

Dayton followed her gaze to Chameleon. "Starbuck's old man? You have designs on him, Ama?"

"Ama!" Cassiopeia interjected, a wide smile of surprise on her face. She muffled a giggle. Finally, a woman who could keep the con man in line. Oh, she hoped she would be around to see this play out!

"I admit to finding the man . . _. intriguing_." It wasn't really surprising. She was always drawn to the son . . . but while she appreciated Starbuck's youthful exuberance and good looks, he was more like a son to her than anything else. But the _father_ . . . A finely polished variation on the son, with an added twist of larceny. What questionably respectable Empyrean Necromancer could _possibly_ resist him?

Chameleon turned at that point to find the enchanting woman studying him. Her gaze swept over him, finally meeting his eyes with a frankness that was both disturbing and refreshing. There was a warmth about her that had him crossing the room, drawing him like a moth to a flame. _Careful, old man, this one might singe your wings._ Who _was _she?

"Chameleon, how nice to see you again." Ama remarked as the father faltered, obviously not recognizing her from the Life Station.

"I'm terribly sorry. It seems you have me at a . . . disadvantage." Chameleon inserted smoothly, automatically taking the hand that was held out to him. He raised it to his lips, brushing the back of her hand with a kiss.

"Chameleon, surely you remember meeting Ama." Cassiopeia reminded him. "Remember? In the Life Station."

"Ama?" His memory of the woman was drastically different than the lovely creature before him now, who was regarding him with a mixture of amusement and appreciation. Then again, Siress Blassie in the morning before two cups of java and the careful application of full facial armour was also a jolt to the geriatric system. Like electric shock therapy actually. "Of course, Cassiopeia," he replied, in his best 'charming the dealer' voice. "My dear lady," he said, turning to the other, "I find myself wondering who the _true_ Ama really is. The vision of loveliness before me now, or the unrestrained maternal spirit of confidence and goodwill and that I first met in the Life Station."

"Surely by now, you've come to realize that a woman of my . . . _experience_, is like a fine ambrosa. At first glance, you may think you know what to expect, but once you _taste_ my finer qualities, you will be not only surprised, but appreciative of the refined characteristics that come with maturity." Ama purred.

Chameleon smiled, nodding in consideration. "But alas, ambrosa has a habit of sneaking up on a man, often making a fool of him."

Ama sniffed, "You're thinking of that cheap swill that they make one yahren and serve the next. A fine libation doesn't make a fool of a man . . . truth be known, the man can usually do that for himself." Ama squeezed Chameleon's hand, her eyes twinkling in merriment.

"Ah, but too much of a good thing is often detrimental as well." Chameleon returned with a laugh, reluctant to let go of her hand.

"I agree, Chameleon." Ama sighed, a touch theatrically. "At this point in life, it is often more about randomly tasting and appreciating what life has to offer, than trying to hold on to it, or keep it to ourselves."

"You are a rare woman, Ama." Chameleon murmured speculatively.

"I know my own mind, if that's what you mean." Ama shrugged. "I'm too far along to change my ways, or to expect anyone of my generation to do the same."

"I think I should be afraid." Chameleon suggested.

"Very afraid." Ama agreed with a grin, displaying the gapped tooth smile that was hers alone. She winked at him. "But fear can also have a peculiar way of buoying the spirits. It can be both exhilarating and debilitating, depending on the individual."

"And the situation." Chameleon nodded, looking to the gaming tables.

"Precisely."

"Oh?" Chameleon looked at her with renewed interest. "Are you a gambler, Ama?"

"I've been a gambler my entire life, Chameleon. But, I admit, most Colonial card games are a bit of a mystery to me . . . and certainly _Earth_ games." She spared a brief look at Dayton.

"I would consider it an honour if you would permit me to . . . introduce you to some of the finer aspects of the game." Chameleon waved a hand towards the poker tables. "Its subtleties are most . . . intriguing, dear lady."

"Then by all means . . ." she took the arm he offered and accompanied him towards the gaming tables. Her favourite game was _life_, and she suspected it was about to get more interesting now that Chameleon had entered hers.

As they watched the gaming action and Chameleon explained the rules, she couldn't help but notice that Commander Dayton was continuing to keep an eye on Fausto _and_ Sire Dracus. Having come close enough to envelop herself in the aura of each man, the thought was somewhat comforting. She watched as Dayton left Cassiopeia's side, taking a moment to speak with a couple of his men.

Then, as if on cue, Fausto, who had been conferring with one of his men, left the room in the direction of his office. Abruptly, Dracus departed in the opposite direction, also heading for an exit, but that to the rest of the ship. Ama nodded in satisfaction as the Commander followed the Councilman, while Ryan and Baker turned to trail Fausto. Dayton briefly looked back in her and Chameleon's direction. He paused hesitantly.

"Chameleon, I hate to postpone our frivolities, but I believe Commander Dayton needs you." Ama nodded towards the Earthman.

"If you'll excuse me, Ama," Chameleon squeezed her hand and crossed the room, joining the Earthman. They left together.

The instantaneous reaction on the conman's part made Ama realize that despite his steady ramblings about poker, that he had been watching too. And waiting.

----------

Boomer picked up the pace as he raced around the corner to Fausto's office to see Apollo already there, and kicking the door in. He caught up with the captain, weapon drawn, and they hugged the doorjambs for a brief instant before Apollo pivoted into the room, his weapon fanning the area. Boomer followed a split micron later.

"Where the frack are they?" the captain asked, on the move again as he crossed quickly to the open turbo flush door, glancing back at Boomer momentarily to establish he had cover. Again, looking inside.

Again, the room was empty.

"They're on the move." Boomer yelled, looking at his tracer and hearing the steady _beep_ of Starbuck's transceiver.

"How did they get past us?" Apollo asked, looking over his shoulder before glancing at his tracer. He followed the signal, trying to pinpoint it.

"They're below us . . . " Boomer joined him. "And still going down."

"A lift? But . . . how did they get there? I had a clear view of the corridor the whole time. I didn't see anyone leave."

"Captain!"

The sharp voice of Technician Hummer from his communicator startled Apollo as he pulled it off his belt. "Go ahead, Hummer."

"The transceiver in Dayton's coin didn't get it all, but wherever Guidobaldo appeared from—_behind_ the desk, incidentally—he dragged Starbuck back in there, after knocking him out by the looks of it, sir." The technician reported from the _Galactica_'s Science Lab.

"Knocked him out? How? Did he shoot him, Hummer?"

"No, Captain. He hit the lieutenant on the head, with a gun-butt I think. Pretty damn hard from what I could see. Then he carried him into the back room, out of range of the holo-scanner."

"I have them approximately three decks down and sitting still now," Boomer added.

"A trap door?" Apollo muttered, entering the turbo flush and beginning to knock on walls, listening for changes in tone. _Guidobaldo?_ The mere thought that the killer had an unconscious Starbuck at his mercy made the Strike Captain's stomach churn.

And his temper rise.

"An escape route." Boomer inserted, joining his friend in the executive sized turbo flush. He shook his head at the polished wood paneling, full turbo wash, auric and crystal fixtures, and art work on the walls. It was almost half the size of Fausto's office. . . with lots of reading material available. "Makes a lot of sense for a crime boss actually."

The dull thud of a hollow wall, directly behind the jet-tub, stopped Apollo short. "But how . . .?" He looked for a trigger of some sort to open it. The wall was covered with shelves and garish 'art', much of it dragons. Where in Hades Hole was the trigger mechanism?

"How about this?" Boomer asked, holding up his blaster.

Apollo hastily stood back nodding.

One blast and the escape route was revealed with a thud, as chunks of wall fell outwards onto the floor. Apollo quickly pulled back stray pieces of paneling obstructing their way, then entered a short tunnel, Boomer on his heels. Within microns they were looking in wonder at carefully constructed scaffolding revealing ladderwells and passageways going in all directions. He'd have to pull the plans for the ship and study them for God knew _how_ long before he'd have a clue as to what went where. A labyrinth of internal passageways leading to unknown places. A small turbo lift was conspicuous by its absence, an old-fashioned gate blocking the way to the shaft. He tried to get a glimpse down the shaft, searching for a sign of Starbuck. _Nothing._ He looked down at his tracer once again. "Frack!"

"_What_?"

"We've lost the signal! Move!" Rapidly they began the descent down ladders and across scaffolding, alarmingly aware that the sound of Colonial boots on metal was like a klaxon sounding, warning Guidobaldo of their presence . . . and imminent arrival.

However, they had no choice.

----------

"Now what?" Dayton asked as he and Chameleon approached the elevator that Sire Dracus had just disappeared into.

Chameleon pointed at the levels lighting up in descending order.

"Great, but by the time we catch the . . . uh, turbo lift down there, he could be long gone and the trail stone-cold," Dayton groused. "He ain't gonna be leaving bread crumbs."

Chameleon hit the lift button. "I don't think it will matter, Commander. Of course, I could be wrong . . ."

"Sorry?" Dayton replied watching the light stop on Delta Deck.

"Luxury class quarters are on Delta Deck," Chameleon told the other. "Whatever Dracus is up to—and it must be important for him to leave the _Journey to Earth_ party that he's partially responsible for as Council Liaison—I suspect he's returning to his own quarters to deal with it."

"He's been behaving strangely ever since Starbuck left the party with Luana," Dayton commented, watching Chameleon nod his agreement.

"I noticed as well. He looks more nervous than _Fausto_ actually. In your Earth slang, something big's going down."

It was true. Fausto had circulated through the party, acting as co-host to Aquila, and trying his hand at _Texas Hold 'Em_ as though he hadn't a care in the universe. Meanwhile, Dracus grew more and more anxious, checking his chrono and setting himself apart from the festivities as he appeared to monitor the situation.

"His quarters are on Delta Deck?" Dayton confirmed.

"Yes, and his quarters are as good a place to start as any. In fact, his ID card seems to have miraculously found its way into my pocket . . ." he smiled at the other, holding up the Councilman's identification. "I really should make it a priority to return it."

Dayton chuckled, slapping the conman on the shoulder. "Damn, Chameleon, I'm glad we're on the same side." The elevator door slid open. "I'd hate to run into you on a Friday back home."

"Friday?"

"Our pay day. Okay. Let's go."

----------

The first thing Starbuck detected as he rose through the murky warmth of oblivion to find his way back to consciousness, was the _thudding_ in the back of his skull. That, and an abrupt change of position as he seemed to miraculously flip over in the air before roughly hitting the deck. He couldn't see a fracking thing, and became aware of a blindfold and gag firmly in place.

Then hands were frisking him roughly—big, meaty hands—searching his body for any potential transceiver. He gagged as his cape and dress medallion were ripped from his neck from behind, acting like a instantaneous tourniquet before they broke free. He tried to fight, but his hands were already secured behind him. It didn't stop him landing a sharp knee to his assailant's head though. At least he _thought_ it was his head.

Pain exploded in his chest as someone delivered a sharp kick to his ribs, knocking the breath out of him. He defensively rolled the other way, but was jerked back into position, a body settling across his thighs, keeping his legs immobile. Vaguely, he realized that the cold, hard surface briefly below his cheek wasn't the plush carpeting of Fausto's office. _Where the frack . . .?_ Another _rip_, as his tunic was pulled open and hands were once again searching him. He abruptly lurched upwards, trying to head butt his assailant and stop the assault, but an answering blow to his jaw slammed him back down, the back of his skull impacting with the deck. He lay there stunned for a centon, watching stars go supernova.

"He _must_ be wired." The voice familiar, coming from above him.

"The scanner isn't picking up anything either." The man who had discovered him. "All clear."

"He _has_ to be wired. There is no way he'd pull something like this without a link to someone else." Insistent.

"I can't _find _anything. Nothing. Zip."

"Then look again! You shouldn't have even brought him here until you were absolutely certain he was clean!"

The hands were everywhere and he couldn't do a damn thing about it! It appeared to be the one blatant fault with Hummer's technology. Who'd of thought? Next time he was _definitely_ opting out of the implantable transceiver option, despite the fact that it was likely buying him time, delaying whatever they had in store for him. He'd much rather they just found the gollmonging thing than have to undergo this! Frankly, things were getting a bit too personal as they flipped him over, a knee pressed into the small of his back, searching seams, pockets and even his boots. They began combing through his hair, their fingers coming close—too frackin' close—to the actual transceiver. They continued going over every centimetron of him more slowly this time, more thoroughly. _Too_ frackin' thoroughly. Starbuck struggled futilely, his head spinning as he tried to suck in air through the wad of _whatever_ was jammed in his mouth, the gag holding it securely in place. He heard a brief laugh as he sputtered ineffectively. Sagan, he'd better be getting danger pay for this!

_Where_ in Hades hole were Apollo and Boomer?


	85. Chapter 85

Part Eighty-Five

"I'm telling you, he's clean!"

Starbuck's chest heaved as he lay with his cheek pressed against the cold deck, trying to work the blindfold just a little further upward. It was bad enough being trussed up like a Winter Solstice avian, stuffed and about to be roasted for dinner, but when he couldn't even _see_ where the next strike was coming from . . . well, it was a little unsettling. Even for a hot shot Colonial Warrior of over a deca-yahren's experience and at least one course in resisting torture.

_Lords, didn't we already do this? _It was disturbingly similar to his session with Torg and Bex on the asteroid base. They had even taken his boots to search for the transceiver. Well, at least these clowns didn't have an Obediator. Thank the twelve Lords of Kobol for small favours.

"He'd _better_ be clean. If they catch him here, I'm finished. And if I am, so are _you!_ There's no amount of explaining . . ." The speaker broke off. Again the voice was disturbingly familiar, but the affect glaringly different. He was certain it wasn't Fausto. If he could just place . . . "Get him up. We need to find out how much he _really_ knows before we kill him."

A beefy arm grabbed him around the neck, cutting off his air as his assailant hauled him backwards and up onto his knees. Starbuck gasped as the pressure eased for an instant, then he felt himself jerked back onto a hard surface, probably a chair, his arms positioned behind the frame. The chair rocked backwards precariously under the momentum before he was again shoved forward and the two front chair legs hit the deck. They wobbled back and forth. _Uneven legs, _he thought fleetingly. _Must be old._

Starbuck used the forward momentum to surge forward, delaying the inevitable interrogation, and giving Apollo and Boomer as much time as they needed to get there. Apparently, they were taking a short java break

The meaty arm was instantly around his neck again, cutting off his breath and momentum abruptly. He was dragged back into position onto the chair, gagging on the wad of cloth in his mouth.

"Shackle him! He's too clever to leave unbound."

Starbuck's right ankle was gripped momentarily before he kicked out blindly, his bare foot connecting with something soft that grunted loudly. It sounded nearby, so he kicked out again, this time certain he hit bone with his heel, the resulting _crunch_, and cry of pain corroborating his suspicion.

He wheezed as he was jerked back by the throat again. A strangled gurgle escaped his lips and he struggled for a breath as the pressure grew by the micron. He jerked from side to side trying to loosen the other's grip, but couldn't evade the crushing hold. His chest ached as he fought for some air, desperate for a single breath. The tightness rose up from his chest until a dull roar filled his ears.

"Let me finish him." The voice in his ear, low and menacing. "Make up for the Life Station. The frackin' Boray's astrum!"

_Guidobaldo._

Starbuck's back arched off the chair, his head swimming. His body shuddered with exertion and he tensed from head to toe as he strained to breathe. He felt himself tipping backwards, uncertain if it was gravitational or if he was fast approaching unconsciousness. Vaguely, he became aware of his feet pressing against the deck, seeking purchase. In a final desperate attempt, he gave a mighty shove with both feet, thrusting the chair and himself back, head over heels.

They crashed to the deck.

----------

It was like being in some nightmarish version of an IFB game show. Although some might describe IFB as something of a nightmare in itself.

Apollo shook his head as he ran along the scaffolding on what had to be Delta Deck. If that was the case, he knew it generally housed the elite. Bureauticians, celebrities, bluebloods and entrepreneurs, along with their hangers-on, parasites, and what one of the Earthmen had called _groupies_ . . . Cubits and lineage seemed to capstone morality and compassion. It wasn't exactly like he and Boomer could just start blasting their way through the endless back doors until they found Starbuck. Someone innocent could get hurt.

His eyes scoured the area looking for some sign that Starbuck had passed—or had been dragged—that way. _A myriad of doors to choose from, and not a fracking idea of which one to go through. _He fleetingly wondered why the ship had so many secret escape routes, evidently one for each suite. What had she been used for before she became the luxury liner that for more yahrens than he could remember chartered wealthy patrons from destination to destination throughout the Twelve Worlds? Or perhaps that was why this labyrinth existed. Perhaps she had always been this way, from the day she was first launched. To hide the elite from pirates or marauders in case of an attack and subsequent boarding. _Had it ever happened?_ His comm crackled to life.

"Apollo!" Boomer's voice rang out. "Back this way. Looks like fresh blood."

They had split up when they had determined there was more than one way to go, being approximately amidships of the _Rising Star_. The captain's gut twisted with worry at Boomer's news. At the same time, he pivoted on his heel, the clap of his boots echoing through the labyrinth as he sprinted to catch up with the lieutenant, all thoughts of the liner's dubious history now far from mind.

As he arrived, he could see Boomer with the control panel open, trying to bypass the access code that kept the heavy door closed to them. It was all that separated them from Starbuck and Guidobaldo, if they were right. He briefly looked at the surface below them, noting the smear of blood that his friend had found. It looked odd; alien in the bad light. "Well?"

Boomer shook his head in frustration. "I can't hot-link the system, Apollo. It's got way too many redundancies. If we don't have the access code, we can't open the door." Even as he spoke, the control pad went dark. "Damn! It's locked me out."

Apollo pulled his blaster for the second time, recalling the lift he and Starbuck had used on Carillon. "There's more than one way to skin a felix."

Boomer stood back as the captain fired point blank into the door itself. There was a flash of light, but nothing else. The heavy door simply seemed to absorb the laser energy, not even smoldering under fire.

"What the frack did they build that thing out of?" Boomer asked in disbelief, remembering how the secret door in Fausto's turbo flush had crumbled. He felt the point of impact. The metal was barely warm.

Apollo shook his head. "Obviously, whoever has these quarters is _serious_ about no one getting in uninvited." He briefly considered just blowing the control panel itself to scrap, or going back for some solenite . . . both would be a waste of time. Time that Starbuck probably didn't have.

"Can we contact Corporal Komma again? Give him our coordinates and find out who the registered occupant is according to the _Rising Star_'s schematic?" Boomer suggested. "Then, maybe just go through the _front _door?"

Apollo pulled out his comm unit, nodding with a smile. "That's why I keep you around, Boomer."

"Well, I knew it must be for _something beyond my good looks and charming disposition._" Boomer returned with a grin.

"You've been hanging around Starbuck . . ."

". . . too long. I know."

----------

_He obviously felt you had it coming, Bucko. _

Starbuck was curled into a ball—or as close as he could get to it—on his side and still attached to the chair by one ankle and his wrists. He couldn't even remember the shackles being applied before he upset the chair, hurling himself, the chair and the charming Guidobaldo as well to the deck. His face, his shins, and, indiscriminately, everything in between were pulsating in pain—all had been targets of the vicious mong-kicking the killer had just delivered.

_With this fella, who needed Obediators?_

"Had enough?!" Guidobaldo hollered in his ear, just about piercing an eardrum as he grabbed a fistful of hair and jerked the warrior's head upwards. "Have you?!"

Starbuck could feel his cheeks puffing out with each breath as he tried to suck in a decent amount of air around the gag in his mouth. Of course, the blood oozing out of his nose wasn't much help either, effectively blocking the rest of his airway. Something _had _to have happened with the transceiver. There was no way in Hades hole that Apollo couldn't have found him by now if he was following the signal. After all, the captain was a navigational genius. Well . . . except for that time he got lost in the magnetic void, his sensors scrambled, just before Kobol. Hades, Apollo had claimed to be locked on Starbuck's voice, using it as a navigational fix then too. Some frackin' fix that had turned out to be. Well, he obviously wasn't locked on Starbuck's voice _or_ homing signal now. Or . . . maybe he was about to burst through the door, Boomer at his side, lasers blazing.

"Enough!" The other man said. Starbuck felt his tormentor being pulled away, the sound of someone yanking at fabric. Probably Guidobaldo's arm being stayed. "You've softened him up. Now let's find out what he knows."

_Well, the rescue was a nice mental image anyhow._

Abruptly, he was grabbed by the tunic, hauled upright, and the chair with him. Another shackle was instantly applied to his free ankle as his head dropped listlessly to his chest. Pain radiated through him in new directions. He hissed as his wrist restraints were tightened cruelly.

A brief searing pain at the back of his head, and the gag dropped into his lap, severed by something sharp that had also sliced his skin. He tried to push the lump of cloth from his mouth with his tongue, but he was so dry, it stuck to his tissues like adhesive. He spat at it ineffectually.

"Let me get that for you."

The cloth was torn from his mouth, his head whipping to the side in reaction . He gasped, as his neck cracked and his skull pounded some more. An instant later his hair was gripped, and his head jerked back, a sharp, cold tylinium blade at his throat.

It was then that he figured it out. That familiar voice he couldn't quite place, mainly because he couldn't connect it with Fausto or his assassin, it was . . . _Dracus_.

The humanitarian. The above reproach Bureautician. The moral puritan.

"Now tell me what you were doing in Fausto's office on his computer." Dracus demanded.

Starbuck's head reeled as he tried to rationalize the Councilman's presence. His voice was more of a croak as he licked dry lips before replying, "Playing . . . Starhounds?"

----------

Ryan paused in the corridor of the chancery's offices to see several of Fausto's own security people, as well as a couple Colonial Security Officers, standing there with data pads in hand. He looked aside at Baker. "I'm almost afraid to look."

Baker nodded. "Can't be good," he said, around his snack. Some sort of cheese balls. He couldn't get enough.

Discovery meant one of two things. Successful mission with Starbuck being fingered. Or _un_successful mission with Starbuck being fingered. Either way, the kid could be in a whole lot of trouble. Thankfully, Colonial Security was _supposed_ to be on their side.

"Let's go make sure our Liaison Officer is alright," Ryan murmured as they continued down the corridor.

"Right." Baker replied through partially chewed cheese balls.

"Hey, leave some of those for someone else."

"They're good!"

"So I've heard, and I'd like to try some too. So might one or two others."

"You act like I've eaten every last one." Baker argued, holding up his last one and considering it momentarily before popping it in his mouth with a grin.

"Well, you are what you eat." Ryan ribbed him.

"Humph."

They only made it a few more feet when one of Fausto's men approached them, hand held up to stop them from proceeding. "What are you doing back here? This area is off limits to guests."

"We're not guests, we're the hired help. The Earthmen." Ryan returned, meeting the man's eyes until he nodded in recognition. "We need to get to our office." He pointed the way to the one just down from Fausto's. "I left my _Too-Ra-Loo-Ra-Loo-Ra_ there."

"Your _what_?" the man asked, his face blank.

"His _Too-Ra-Loo-Ra-Loo-Ra_." Baker replied with the help of the languatron. "The one Bing Crosby gave him. Heck, I'm pretty sure it was just next to my _Mele Kalikimaka_."

"You sure that's the thing to say?"

"Well, sure, it isn't Christmas Day, but . . ."

"Meli . . ." the man's face twisted as he tried to say the words, grabbing Baker's languatron and looking at it helplessly. "Uh . . ."

"Kalikimaka." Ryan inserted smoothly. "You can't have a presentation of this importance without a decent _Too-Ra-Loo-Ra-Loo-Ra_ _or_ a _Mele Kalikimaka_." He looked at Baker. "We were remiss in thinking we could get away with it. Pretty damn supercalifragilisticexpialidocious of us really."

Baker nodded, seemingly abashed. "God. What _would_ Julie Andrews say?"

"Well, hopefully, she'll never find out. This really is something quite atrocious."

"Uh . . ." The man shifted from foot to foot, seeing the corridor clear as Security Officers and Fausto's people alike stepped into the office. "All right. Go ahead. Straight in and then straight back out." Far be it for him to ruin the _Journey to Earth_ presentation because they didn't have a . . . whatever it was.

"Right." Ryan assured him, stepping past him and slowing his pace as he passed Fausto's office. He glanced inside to see three burly Security men squeezed into the head at the rear of the office. There was no sign of Starbuck . . . or his posse. He hesitated.

Baker opened the door to their office, pausing to wait for his friend. "You coming?"

Ryan nodded slowly, then startled as Fausto suddenly appeared in his doorway.

"Can I help you, Dr. Ryan?" Fausto asked, his eyes narrowed, closing his door behind him and blocking their view of the unfolding events.

"Bloody well hope so, Fausto, old boy." Ryan looked up and down the corridor, amazed to find it empty. He grinned at Baker. "We've lost something kind of important to us, and we were hoping you could help us find it." He put a friendly arm around Fausto's shoulders, guiding him steadily _and_ forcibly towards their office.

"Wait, just a fracking centon . . ." Fausto snarled, putting on his breaks.

"Don't think so, Cheese Ball." Baker inserted with a grin at Ryan, grabbing Fausto by the arm and bodily throwing him through the door. The gangster stumbled, barely keeping himself from landing face-first on the rug. "Now plant your butt in the chair, or my friend and I will personally rip you a new one."

"How dare you! I am. . . " He didn't get to finish, as he was settled into the seat.

"This worm makes Al Capone look like a saint," said Baker to his friend. "Now, it's like this, Fausto, my man." He dropped the languatron on the chancery boss' lap, hoping the translation would lose nothing of his heartfelt words in the translation. "You and your cruds have taken Starbuck somewhere. And _we_ wanna know where that is."

"Look, I don't know. . . " Fausto began, but Baker shoved him back in the chair. Fausto glared furiously at him, and opened his mouth.

Baker slapped him, open handed and hard enough to feel the heat on his palm. "You have only one thing to say, Buster, that we wanna hear." He reached for the samples of material they had been given to chose from for their tuxedos, beginning to tear some into strips.

"You are dead! Both of you!" snarled Fausto, red-faced and teeth bared. "No one treats me this way and gets away with it!"

"Save your breath," said Ryan. "You may need it before the night is over." He leaned close to Fausto, as his friend bound the chancery boss to the chair. "And when you threaten us, it might be wise to keep something in mind. Me, my friend here? Dayton? We spent thirty years being humiliated and tortured by _experts_! Nothing you can possibly threaten us with could ever come _close . . ._" his voice rose to a shout, " . . . to the _living hell_ we've been through." He stood back, looking down at the other. "So you better start. . ."

"Let me go!!!" bellowed Fausto at the top of his lungs, straining at the bonds. "I demand you release me!"

"He demands," said Baker, with a smile. "This piece of trash murders with impunity, and he _demands_ things of us."

"Yeah. Come half-way across the damned galaxy, and it's the same old crap." He shook his head. "Pathetic. Totally pathetic."

"Now," said Baker, a glinting knife in one hand. He moved closer to Fausto, and let him get a good look at the blade. "This is how it's going to be, Dirtbag. You tell me and my friend what we want to know, and you get to keep your anatomy intact."

"I . . ." hissed Fausto, sweat beading on his forehead, eyes fixed on the knife. "I. . ."

"Yes?" said Baker. "We're all ears."

----------

It was the first instance that his blindfold had been slightly out of place since he had originally awakened, bound and gagged. Starbuck was reasonably sure he had lost consciousness again after Dracus had ordered the killer to teach him a few manners, but just this centon it was all a blur. The last thing he remembered he was wishing he'd kept his big mouth shut as the hit man went berserk on him. Who would have thought that Guidobaldo could be such a stickler for the social graces? _Wait a centon . . . Guidobaldo was Fausto's man . . . What in Hades hole was he doing here taking orders from Dracus?_ His muddled mind tried to make sense of it. _And where was here incidentally?_

Starbuck blinked, raising his head painfully and cautiously, his neck muscles screaming in protest, as he tried to look around the dimly lit room. The blindfold must have shifted during the last pummeling the hit man had given him, and had left one eye partially uncovered. Mind you, from the throbbing in that general area, he realized it would probably be swollen shut in no time, so perhaps it was a moot point. He bit his lip, trying to ignore stiff and aching muscles that had been immobilized for too damn long as he was tied unconscious to the chair. He straightened his back and neck slowly, hearing and feeling each vertebra protest, popping, cracking and creaking as though he was three times his actual age. A soft groan escaped him as he wondered where Dracus and Guidobaldo had gone. Not that he missed them.

He blinked again, trying to clear double vision from his single eye. He sighed, shaking his head dubiously. Why? Oh, whycouldn't it be single vision from double eyes? His eye was drawn to the several lights on the walls surrounding him. He rolled his neck before again focusing in on the light closest to him. _What the . . .?_

A painting. Now he wasn't much of an art connoisseur, leaning more towards actually _experiencing_ life rather than hanging it on his wall, but even his untrained eye could tell he was looking at something . . . damned _old_.

And valuable.

The colours were rich, the light and shadow effects varied and subtle, the scene depicting a group of young women wearing antique dress and surrounding another. A soft golden light bathed the central figure, setting her apart as she gazed reverently towards the heavens. If he wasn't shackled to a chair, it _might_ have been inspiring. Actually, in that light, it reminded him of an introductory art course he was forced to endure as a young teen, through the generosity of the head matron of the Caprica City Orphanage.

"Ah, you're awake, Lieutenant."

His mouth was thick and dry, and the usual flippant remark remained stuck to the tip of his tongue. His licked his lips without relief. Life was just not fair sometimes.

Dracus walked in front of him, sniffing in disgust as he noticed the askew blindfold. He smiled sadistically as he held a blade up in front of Starbuck, its ornate hilt disturbingly similar to one that had been sticking out of the lieutenant's gut recently, compliments of Sire Regus. He pushed it closer to the warrior, his smile slipping when the already battered pilot refused to react. "Are you ready to talk?"

Starbuck swallowed, again trying to moisten his mouth. He glared at the bureautician in silent resistance.

"Guidobaldo, give the lieutenant a drink." Dracus ordered the assassin, looking beyond the chair. "Something cool and refreshing. He's had a long day."

"Of course."

The killer was directly behind him. Once again, a beefy arm had him in a headlock, forcing his chin up. In an instant the assassin was trying to pour a cup of noxious liquid down Starbuck's throat. The warrior sputtered and choked, inhaling half and spitting the rest out into Dracus' face, the chair rocking as he thrust his body weight from side to side, resisting the only way he could.

"Bastard!" Dracus cried, joining the assault. He grabbed Starbuck by the jaw, clutching his face and helping force more of the beverage into their prisoner until the pilot was gasping and wheezing for breath. "Enough!"

They let him go.

Starbuck's chest heaved, fighting for air between hacking coughs, bent on clearing his lungs. As his wracking coughs finally calmed, his head drooped to his chest wearily. Blinking his eyes to clear them, he shook his head slowly, his brain feeling fuzzy. The world seemed to be slowing down, everything moving in slow motion. He blinked again as the lights before him refracted, splitting off into colourful beams that coursed through the air. He watched them mesmerized. Funny, some of these colours didn't actually exist, but hey, they were so nice he was willing to nominate them for inclusion in that whole colour network. It was the least he could do really. It was beautiful.

"How long does it take to work?" Dracus asked the other.

"It's very fast-acting. He should be ready now."

"Then let's begin simply." Dracus grabbed Starbuck's jaw, assessing his glazed visage. "Tell me your name."

The warrior closed his eyes briefly, feeling the grip tighten, fingernails digging into his skin. It hurt. His head felt heavy and out of sorts . . . like someone had snuck in and given him a cranial transplant. He fleetingly hoped it was a decent replacement over his old head. . . mind you, how could you possibly improve on perfection?

"YOUR NAME!" Dracus hollered in his ear.

He found it increasingly difficult to focus on anything beyond Dracus' question . . . especially at that volume. "Starbuck." He opened his eyes blearily, a faint smile lit his face. "But my friends call me _House Blend_."

_Crunch!_

----------

"Nobody home," Dayton muttered disdainfully as he stood in front of Sire Dracus' quarters. He _pinged _the chime again.

"I gathered as much," Chameleon agreed. "Either that, or he's not receiving guests." He looked up and down the corridor before pulling Dracus' ID card out and holding it up to the activation unit. Dayton moved slightly to one side, to cover Chameleon's actions. The door slid open.

"Nice," Dayton nodded approvingly at the conman, stepping inside. "Slicker than snot on a doorknob."

"Maybe," replied the other, as he mulled the odd reference. "But I still miss the good old days when I could just _pick_ the lock," Chameleon reminisced. "So much more _skill_ involved then."

"I would have thought you folks were long past something as crude as mechanical locks."

"Well, in fact the sophistication of one's security system is often limited by one's budget . . ." his words petered out as they walked into the antechamber.

"Holy Highlander . . ." Dayton exclaimed, looking around at the fine old swords displayed on the walls. "Does this guy have his own armoury or what?"

"Doesn't exactly fill me with comforting thoughts. . ." Chameleon muttered as they continued through to the main chambers, pausing to glance at the swords in the display cabinets. "By the Lillium moons, this is valuable merchandise."

"Whew, where's the Round Table?" Dayton shook his head, returning to the here and now. "Where the hell did he go?" the Earthman asked the conman as he began looking through adjoining rooms for any sign of Sire Dracus.

"Hmm?" Chameleon asked, his eye caught by a sculpture of a man's head displayed prominently on a black stone pillar. He knew that piece. Had seen it once yahrens ago in . . .

"_Dracus_."

"Wait a centon." Chameleon murmured distractedly as he turned slowly in a circle, following his instinct, trying to put it all together. A painting . . . the sculpture . . . at least a couple swords . . . a very old, hand-illuminated copy of the _Book of the Word_ . . .

"Chameleon! He's _not_ here! We were wrong!" Dayton told him briskly. "He's up to something, I'm telling you. I don't like it. We need to find out what's happening on Starbuck's end. I'm going to call Ryan and see what he found out." He had prearranged to comm Ryan and Baker in their 'office'. He glanced at his wristwatch. . . chrono.

The older man raised a calming hand. "This collection." He indicated the antiques displayed proudly in the room. "I'm certain that a _few_ of these pieces are _stolen_. Famous, priceless pieces that have been missing for deca-yahrens, appropriated from some very well-known museums and private collections."

Dayton paused, looking at the other. "So, you're saying that the squeaky clean, Golden Boy, fine, upstanding pillar of the community, Sire Dracus, is a . . . a _thief_?"

Chameleon nodded. "So it would seem." He looked grudgingly impressed. "And a damn fine one."

"Okay, well if he's scum, at least he isn't _cut-rate _scum. That still doesn't get us any closer to connecting with Starbuck, and finding out what's going down there."

"You're right," replied the older man.

"I'm gonna call Ryan and . . . "

"No one is making any _calls_ just now, I'm afraid," said a voice. They heard a _click _behind them. "Hands up, and turn around _slowly_."

"Why do these things always happen to _me_?" muttered Chameleon.


	86. Chapter 86

Apollo paced Fausto's office as Boomer sat somewhat more patiently on the corner of the desk, waiting for the location of the hidden room from Corporal Komma. The lieutenant's eyes followed the captain as he covered the three steps from one side of the room to the other, and then turned sharply on his heel and repeated them.

"Taking too long . . ." Apollo muttered.

"It's only been five centons." Boomer replied logically. "He's probably wading through data."

"Feels more like a day."

"I know," replied Boomer, still watching the other. "Apollo, will you stop pacing? You're going to wear a trench in the deck plate."

"Boomer, I can't help it. I was supposed to be backing him up. Instead, I've lost him." He stopped, looking at the other. "Some fracking friend."

"Hey, if you're looking to ascribe blame—which Starbuck would absolutely _hate_, I might add—then I'm just as culpable." Boomer raised his hands defenselessly.

Apollo blew out a short breath of frustration in return, knowing the lieutenant was right. He just hated sitting still, waiting on someone else before he could act. Especially, knowing that Starbuck was in the hands of a killer.

Two figures dressed in black crossed in front of the open office door, drawing their attention. Apollo recognized them as two of the rescued Earthmen. Ryan briefly looked in and paused. He looked hastily at Baker, seeming torn in some way, before pushing his friend on ahead and stopping.

"Dr. Ryan." Apollo looked at him critically. What had formally been a pristine white shirt was now splattered with . . . what looked like blood. But whose? "What's going on?"

"I think we know where Starbuck is," Ryan advised them. "Dracus has a secured backroom in his suite. Delta Level, Suite 10500. The Empyreal Suite, or so I'm told."

"What makes you think . . .?"

"Dracus left early. Champing at the bit for some reason. Mark and Chameleon followed him." The Earthman's face was impassive, all evidence of his normal jocularity gone. "I haven't heard from Mark, and I was supposed to." He swallowed briefly. "I think he's in trouble. I think they're _all_ in trouble." He paused, screwing up his face as if what came next didn't come easy to him. "I . . . I could use your help." He looked pointedly at their weapons, then added as a seeming afterthought, "Captain."

It was sketchy, to say the least. But the fact that the Earthman had stopped to confide in them, to get their help, spoke volumes more than his words. Even more so after thirty yahrens in that hole from Hades they had found them in. In the end, Apollo knew that Ryan was fond of Starbuck. Maybe a little _too_ fond of him. Sagan, how could he not be fond of the man who had rescued them all from a living death? The astronaut was looking out for their buddy, as well as his Commander. But where precisely did Sire _Dracus _fit in? They would likely find out when they crashed his quarters.

Apollo looked to Boomer who nodded once curtly, before the Strike Captain spoke into his communicator. "Corporal Komma, this is Captain Apollo. When you're finally ready, you can reach me with that information on my personal communicator."

The communicator crackled to life. "Sorry, Captain. I just had to double check the information because that particular suite of rooms has a privacy code on it. I needed Commander Adama's clearance." Komma informed him. "It's Sire Dracus' rooms, Sir. Delta level, Suite 10500."

Ryan's jaw tightened and he rolled his eyes. "_Duh_. Well, Captain?"

"Let's go." Apollo replied.

----------

Dayton's brow crinkled at he looked in surprise at the woman who had sneaked up on him and Chameleon. She was covered in black from head to toe: a filmy veil that seemed to be more about fashion than function; a long, elegant black gown; even a coordinating small, black gun . . . which he assumed was of the laser variety, despite its size. From the way she filled out her clothes, he might, under other circumstances, found her sexy. In this one, she reminded him of a Black Widow Spider.

_You let a woman sneak up on you? Must be getting old, Mark!_

_ Hell, you ARE old!_

"Who are you?" Dayton asked curiously as he raised his hands slowly. He looked at Chameleon in question. He was sure that the Councilman was single. The conman shook his head, clearly not knowing her identity.

"Silence!" she snapped, her form tight with tension. She waved the weapon towards the bed chambers where the Commander had already searched. "That way. Now."

"Uh . . . I like to get to know a lady before entering her bedroom," Dayton quipped, trying to delay for time, seeing her suck in a deep breath in agitation. By her bearing, and enunciation, he had a feeling she was from the Colonial upper class and wouldn't appreciate his remark. So he made another. "Wouldn't mind knowing what was under the _burka_ before I decide one way or the other . . ."

"I said, _silence_!" she repeated, actually stomping a foot. "For pity's sake, you sound like that insolent daggit, Starbuck!" Her eyes flickered to the screen, her features settling in a crazed contentment. "Now, if you don't start walking right now, I _will_ fire."

"Easy, lady. Don't get your knickers in a knot," Dayton continued, walking back to the bedroom with Chameleon looking at him warningly.

"Uhhh, maybe you should forego the flip remarks, Commander," the conman hissed.

"Well, I . . . "

"_She_ has the blaster."

"_Blaster_? Couldn't you find another word? Sounds like I'm in a _Star Wars_ movie."

_"SHUT UP!" _she growled.

The two men entered the chamber and paused as she pointed towards the wardrobe. Dayton sighed and entered the dressing room, somewhat mollified to find it mostly empty, with only a few suits of clothes carefully hung in place. Dracus might have a slightly sociopathic taste for fine art, but at least his _entire_ persona wasn't a lie. His eyes narrowed slightly as he noticed a panel slightly ajar just beyond the clothes. He walked towards it, pulling the clothes aside and pushing it open to reveal a tunnel.

"Keep going."

"In here?"

"Yes."

Another flip retort came to his lips, but one look from Chameleon convinced him it might be ill-advised just now. The tunnel was only a few metrons long, and they were soon in an inner chamber. Two monitors were displayed, one showing Dracus' quarters and the other showing a close-up of Starbuck. Dayton heard Chameleon gasp as his son looked blearily ahead, obviously restrained, his eyes having trouble focusing, his face bloody. A sealed hatch a couple metrons away obviously lead to another chamber, likely where they were holding the warrior.

"What have you _done_ to him?" Chameleon whirled on the woman, backing off at the last instant as she tightened her finger on the trigger.

"Less than he deserves." She spat. "But don't worry. There's more to come. Sire Dracus has promised me that Lieutenant Starbuck will die many deaths before he is allowed to draw his last breath. He will _pay_ for the humiliation and suffering he has brought on my family!" Her last words were accompanied by a rising voice, and a shaking of her gun hand as her eyes flickered to the screen, then the hatch, and back to the two men who were her prisoners.

"_Your_ family?" Chameleon asked, peering at her closely. "Who are you?"

She slowly removed her veil. "Siress Rea of the Great House of Regus."

"Regus? Isn't he the maniac that tried to gut Starbuck?" Dayton asked, his eyes swinging to the image portrayed on the screen. There was no sign that Starbuck could hear their discussion. That either meant the chamber was sound proof—which made sense if they used it to torture their victims—or merely that Starbuck was too far gone to care.

"_Maniac?_" Siress Rea screamed shrilly. "Regus was an honourable man. A good provider and a respected member of the Empyrean Quorum. Lieutenant Starbuck changed all of that when he dishonored my son at the Empyrean Ball, and caused him to plummet back into . . . " She trailed off, her hands shaking as she pointed the weapon at Dayton, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

"You can't blame Starbuck for your son's drug dependency." Chameleon shook his head vehemently. "That happened long before . . ."

"You know not of what you speak!" Siress Rea denied, turning her weapon on the conman.

Dayton glanced at the closed hatch. Nothing. _Now or never._ He let out a blood curdling scream worthy of a teenage girl in a horror movie. He grinned as both Chameleon and Siress Rea jumped a mile high in surprise, and he was beside the Empyrean woman in a heartbeat, grabbing her weapon and soundly thumping her on the chin. He caught her as she slumped into his arms.

Chameleon stared at the Earthman agog. "You hit her. You hit a . . . a _woman_," he sputtered in shock, not necessarily upset about it considering the circumstances, just. . . surprised.

"I feel differently about a woman holding a weapon on me while she's telling me about how she's arranged the prolonged torture and eventual death of one of my friends." Dayton paused, realizing that somehow the lieutenant had made it into that tight knit little circle of people that he considered 'friend'. And consequently, he would do anything necessary to keep the kid alive, as he would his men.

Chameleon looked at the woman regrettably as Dayton lowered her gently to the ground. To lose her son and then her husband, and to feel driven to this end. It was a tragedy in itself. However, realistically he supposed it was better that it was _her _tragedy and not his own. Blowing out a breath, he looked back at the image of his son on the screen. They needed to get in there. To do so effectively, they needed the element of surprise. "I . . . uh, think I have an idea, Dayton. Hear me out."

----------

If Starbuck looked long enough at the old painting displayed before him, the figures seemed to move. The young women were smiling alluringly at him. The one in the middle whose eyes were cast towards the heavens slowly and coyly turned her head towards him, smiling invitingly and then winking at him. She spoke to him, the sound a muffled murmur he couldn't make out, no matter how hard he tried. He tried to lean closer. She then smiled at him adoringly. He grinned back.

Until someone smacked him in the head to get his attention.

"I don't believe anyone has explained to you how 'Factuality Elixir' works, Lieutenant." Dracus circled around Starbuck like a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Images of the _shark_ from the Earthmen's presentation came to him. "You are powerless to fight its effects. You _will_ tell me the truth."

Starbuck looked at him quizzically, his attention returning to the moody man. He concentrated on keeping his eyes on the other as the Councilman's blurry form seemed to gradually split in two, the kaleidoscope of colour behind him making the transformation appear to be a carefully staged illusion. He looked around distractedly, wondering if there were any Empyrean Necromancers around that he could blame this on. Or—he paused, looking at the Dracus twins and then the animated painting with a critical eye—_maybe_ it was the drug they had just poured down his throat. "You . . . thur ab . . . sure about that?" He wasn't certain which one of them to address his question to, so he considered each of them in turn.

Dracus looked at the pilot strangely before asking Guidobaldo, "Are you sure you didn't give him _too much_?"

"Same dosage we've always used," answered the thug.

"Maybe all that medication from Life Station . . . check his eyes. They should be dilated by now."

The assassin shrugged, grabbing a fistful of Starbuck's hair at the back of his head and jerking his head up at an awkward angle.

"Oww!"

"What the . . ." Guidobaldo muttered, grabbing the warrior's head in both hands and twisting his head the other way, running callused fingers along his neck.

"Hey!" Starbuck protested again. "Get off me! That tickles!"

"What the frack's _this_?" The killer palpated the swollen lump on the warrior's hairline.

"Scratch it, will ya?" Starbuck asked hopefully, switching tactics. The itch was incessant, and with his hands restrained behind him, it was almost unbearable . . . especially now that they had reminded him about it. "It's driving me cracking frazy."

"What is it?" Dracus asked, leaning forward to see, and ignoring the warrior.

"Probably a transceiver. It's . . . embedded." Guidobaldo reported. "Surgically, under the skin!"

"Now that's critical thinking!" Starbuck baited the assassin, suddenly getting an idea. Which was amazing under the circumstances. "Can't sneak much past you, Guido."

"Guido_baldo_." The killer replied, forcing the warrior's neck to an impossible angle. Starbuck grunted in pain struggling against the force that seemed to be trying to break his neck. _Bad idea, Bucko._ _Stop baiting sociopaths_.

Dracus—and his equally evil twin—stirred before the Colonial Warrior, blades in hand. "Then let's extract it." The voice cold.

Starbuck hesitated as he looked at them suspiciously. Interestingly, the single voice was coming out of _both_ sets of lips. He chuckled at the blatant discrepancy. Someone had cut costs on the special effects for this illusion. A low budget production. _Definitely IFB! _ "Uh . . . I'm reasonably sure it's not working anyway, so it's probably not worth your willie . . . wil . . . while  
. . . " Starbuck gazed back and forth between the Dracuses who were glaring at him malignantly. "For either of you."

They advanced on him together, moving as one as the assassin held his head. The pilot sucked in a breath as the Dracuses paused above him, looking into his eyes mockingly before they struck. Starbuck grunted, reflexively closing his eyes as their blades hit his neck. A sharp sting was the anticlimactic result of the procedure. Guidobaldo released him.

He opened his eyes, blinking and shaking his head as the Dracuses magically began to meld back into one, the haze lifting slightly from his mind. The kaleidoscope similarly began to recede. It was almost disappointing. _Lords, what a trip_. Bloody fingers held the transceiver in front of his face, turning it over. He could feel warm blood oozing onto his neck.

"How can we tell if it's operational?" Dracus asked his henchman as he examined it.

"They'd be here by now if it was. I'd say it's defunct," the man returned. "It never turned up on any of our sweeps."

The bureautician nodded, satisfied. He dropped it on the deck, stomping on it with the heel of his boot. Starbuck winced as the transceiver crunched beneath the other's foot, definitely a low point, functional or not. He had the faintest hope that once removed and free of bodily fluids, it might again emit a signal. _Bloody useless electronic felgercarb._

"Now, Lieutenant, tell me what were you looking for in Fausto's computer?"

The pressure increased once again on his neck when he didn't respond immediately. It was almost grounding. The pain drawing him further from the mist that had tried to envelop his brain after the Factuality Elixir. Apparently, the concoction wasn't all it was cracked up to be, or the effect was extremely short lived.

"His centerfold collection. We heard in barracks that Miss Yule was a knockout. Great Landing Bays."

_Smack!_

"Lieutenant!" hissed Dracus.

Starbuck didn't need Empyrean powers to tell that the other had reached his limit. "You," Starbuck replied with a grunt, the taste of blood filling his mouth. He spat it out, unfortunately missing Dracus entirely when the man bolted backwards. "You!"

"And what did you _find_?" Dracus hissed, leaning closer once again.

Starbuck grinned, holding the bureautician's eyes. "You, Boray breath! Files and files about _you_. Dozens of 'em! All residing in the _Galactica'_s mainframe as we speak, on the way to Commander Adama, Security, Sire Solon, and the rest of the Council of Twelve! Enough to bury you, Dracus." Starbuck bluffed, watching the other's reaction carefully as he strung him along. "Fausto has a lot more on you than _just_ an Elysium-addicted daughter. He's got dirt on you all the way back to the day the doctor smacked you on your astrum. Holoptics. Dates. Everything! Including your association with this lowlife gutter-rot." He nodded towards the assassin and waited a beat, reveling in the look of sick fear coming over Dracus' face. It was satisfying on _so_ many levels. "No wonder you hate Fausto. He's been wanting to destroy you for a very long time, hasn't he?" The bureautician drew in a sharp breath. "I wonder if he finds it as amusing as I do that we intercepted the information—the case he's built against you to try and manipulate you to _his_ ends—and now you're _both_ going down." He sniffed, a smirk on his face as he looked at the assassin. "You too, Guido. First class tickets to the Prison Barge for all of you for the rest of your lives."

"Then you know the truth," Dracus murmured quietly

"About your _extracurricular_ activities?" Starbuck asked rhetorically, nodding towards the antique painting. Now he finally remembered the piece, though why it suddenly came to mind he couldn't explain. Images of Matron Mireya hammering it into their teenage brains during instruction period flickered through his mind. Bottisario's _Maia and the Angels_. Reported stolen, from the Sandron Museum in Gemon, about the time he'd joined the service. Appraised just before then at being worth over ten million cubits. Whereabouts still unknown.

Until now.

"You're through." Starbuck told him, knowing that if the killer was working for Dracus, then he was willing to bet that the bureautician was involved in a lot more than the amassing of expensive works of art. The naked fear in the bureauticians eyes at his uncertain future told him as much without a doubt, though it was gone a micron later, replaced with raw anger. But how was it that Guidobaldo was also working for Fausto?

Dracus' gaze flickered to his henchman and he nodded before growling, "You first, Lieutenant. Guidobaldo, kill him. Slowly and painfully. I want to hear him scream for mercy." He grabbed Starbuck's jaw, glaring into his eyes. "Just before he begs for death." He stepped back as if to wash his own hands of the gruesome task.

"My ultimate pleasure." The assassin replied with a menacing leer towards the warrior. He turned, walking towards a cupboard that was just within the lieutenant's line of sight _if_ he craned his neck sufficiently. "Just allow me to retrieve some of my favourite tools . . ."

"Wait a centon." Starbuck interjected quickly, his pulse quickening. "You've got it all wrong. You forgot the part where the maniacal criminal tells the handsome hero about how he came to employ his arch enemy's right hand man . . ."

"_Kill him!_"


	87. Chapter 87

Part Eighty-Seven

Another gash in his uniform, another conductor secured in place. Sometimes the blade gouged, drawing blood and inflicting pain, sometimes it merely scraped his flesh. He didn't know what to expect next. That was part of Guidobaldo's game. That was why the blindfold was back in place as he sat, still immobile, shackled to the chair. The unknown and the unseen was twice as intimidating as the expected.

"Just so you understand completely . . ." Guidobaldo leaned in, lips close to Starbuck's ear, his voice low and monotone. Almost clinical. Like Dr. Salik during the yahrenly physical. Right before the physician inserted that hideous probe right up. . .

This time the blade only nicked him mid-chest, feeling more like a paper cut. A sharp sting, and then the adhesive pad was pressed into place. Starbuck gritted his teeth, refusing to react, even though his tired and battered body was tense with expectation. Every nerve ending was alive, hypersensitive, awaiting the killer's next move. The game was psychological as much as physical. The one advantage was that every centon that Guidobaldo prolonged the torture, he unwittingly gave Apollo and Boomer one more centon to find him. He had to cling to that hope, however tenuous it was.

"The Human body, Lieutenant, has twelve main neural meridians that can be targeted to either help heal disease, or," he paused, and Starbuck could almost hear his torturer smile, "cause exquisite pain. Depending on the artist's training, of course."

"Of course," Starbuck replied, ever flippant in the face of danger.

"And believe you me, Lieutenant, it _is_ an art form. One of the most . . . well, words fail me."

"Sorry to hear that. You know, one of the _Galactica_'s bridge officers does wonders with the little kids in instructional period. Maybe some remedial reading might help?"

Guidobaldo just laughed softly, refusing to rise to the bait.

Conductors clung to Starbuck's body linearly. Starting at his head and going down both arms to his hands, his legs to his feet, his back, and now his torso, following the supposed neural pathways. He could feel the sweat running off his body, following the route of the pads. His breathing was quicker, more shallow, in response to both the pain he already felt, and that which he knew would soon be coming.

"I wonder, Lieutenant Starbuck, if you will lose control," the goon laughed softly again, the sound like the rasp of serpent skin, "of certain bodily functions on the first treatment. . . or the second." Guidobaldo's voice purred in his face, his breath hot and foul. "I'm willing to bet it will be the _first_."

The blade pressed against his stomach, slowly exerting an increasing pressure until it cut through material and tissue as though they were air. It was all too reminiscent of a crazed Regus driving a knife into his guts with the intent to kill. Starbuck held his breath, waiting.

"The conductors are connected by a relay, which will direct the transmitting signal to the desired probe. Once all of them are in place, I simply press a button and electrical impulses shoot through your entire body to the points I decide, at the exact _intensity_ that I decide. Only three more to go." He chuckled again. "Don't worry, Lieutenant. I once suffered through first yahren med school so I could perfect my skills on delivering pain with the utmost efficacy. I know my anatomy."

"Comforting to know you're not an amateur." The pilot murmured, his skin prickling at the closeness of the knife. "I'm touchy about those things."

The blade was withdrawn and Starbuck let out a slow, steadying breath as another pad was pressed into place. He could now feel the blade on his lower abdomen, just above his pubic bone. Again the knife pressed against his skin, this time only puncturing clothing and ripping it aside before the conductor was firmly fixed into place.

"Are you wondering where the last one goes yet?" This time the voice was Dracus' as he laughed sadistically, seemingly some metrons away. Close enough to observe without actually getting his hands dirty. "Hmm?"

"Sorry, but the study of neural meridians wasn't my forte at the Academy. Uhh, maybe we could arrange a review of the systems with descriptive diagrams and I could brush up . . . "

_Whack!_

Starbuck tasted the blood in his mouth from the blow, whether delivered by Dracus or his pet simian he could not tell. All that mattered was he interrupted the assassin once again. Prolonging this session, but giving a potential rescue effort more precious time. He spat in the general direction of the closest sound, satisfied when someone hissed in disgust. It was worth the throbbing jaw.

_Whack! _

"Okay," said Guidobaldo, the mirth evident in his voice. "Here goes the last one. Now _don't_ move, Lieutenant. Then again, it's not like you'll be needing them again . . ." Low, chilling laughter.

"Fr . . .frack . . ." Starbuck swallowed the sudden lump in his throat as he realized the straight line of descent down the middle of his torso inevitably led to his . . .

Abruptly, the loud noise of a hatch opening, swinging back to its limit, interrupted the proceedings. Starbuck sat up straight, ears straining, listening for the inevitable sound of Apollo's voice as his friends rushed to his rescue.

It didn't come.

But . . .

"Alright. _Alright__already_. I'm moving, lady. I'm moving."

It sounded like . . . _Dayton_.

----------

Dayton's hands were held up high over his head as he came through the hatch, Chameleon following behind him in Siress Rea's mourning dress. The key was that Chameleon couldn't speak before they put their two-step plan into action.

Step one: enter room. Step two: wing it.

"Well, this sure doesn't _look _like Narnia, Siress. Exactly, what kind of wardrobe . . . ?" The introduction died on his tongue when he saw what was happening. "Holy crap, what the hell are you doing to the boy? He's a bit young for a vasectomy!" Dayton growled as he saw Guidobaldo's knife poised at Starbuck's groin. Chameleon's gun pressed into his back, urging him forward insistently.

Guidobaldo jumped to his feet, at first not seeing the 'Siress', covered from head to toe in black, behind the Earthman. He relaxed as he spied her, lowering the blade he was getting ready to let loose in the intruder's direction. It seemed the 'Siress' had things well under control.

"Sorry to interrupt your little party, I came to check on you, Sire Dracus. I was . . . worried when you didn't return to the soiree." Dayton shrugged innocently, surreptitiously looking over the warrior who appeared to still be in one piece and breathing.

For the moment.

"I'm sure," Dracus returned wryly, his eyes narrowed as they stopped before him. "Rea, my dear, why did you bring him in? Surely you understand we'll have to kill him now."

"One more hardly matters . . ." Chameleon's voice was high pitched, the upper crust accent perfect, but the tone was a long way from Siress Rea's. Dracus' face went dark, as he realized it was a deception. The conman was already pivoting sharply, aiming the weapon at the bureautician. "Don't move, Dracus."

At the same time, Dayton reached behind him, unsheathing the longsword strapped to his back. In an instant, he was in position, feeling like Luke Skywalker with his light saber . . . or maybe, a little more accurately, Connor MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. Either way, with a flick of his wrist and a downward slash of the blade, he disarmed Guidobaldo.

The assassin screamed as the blade cut down to the bone, halfway through his arm. He cradled the mutilated limb to his chest, crumpling to his knees in agony, blood soaking his tunic and running to the floor.

"Crude, Dayton, but effective," Chameleon murmured, pulling the veil from his head.

"I'm a bit rusty . . . out of practice," Dayton amended when Chameleon looked at him curiously. Hell, how long had it been since he and a few friends had decided to join the Society for Creative Anachronisms where he had risen in the ranks to a member of the Chivalry through his acquired expertise in single combat fighting? Who would have thought that a great excuse to get away from it all and drink a few beers too many for most of the summer weekends of his early twenties, would one day pay off in spades?

"Chameleon?" Starbuck asked, his head cocked in his father's direction, his voice hesitant. Hopeful.

"Yes, s . . . Starbuck. We're here." Chameleon reassured his son. "It's over."

"I think not, gentlemen." Dracus held up a small black box. They could see the red button in the middle and the dial above it that the bureautician had just cranked to the right. "I'm still holding the capstone, as it were. Drop your weapons." He nodded in approval as his henchman, face still tight with agony, began to tighten a belt around his own forearm, turning it into an effective tourniquet and slowing the bleeding.

"Don't listen to him! That could be the remote control for his television set for all we know," Dayton snapped, seeing the conman lower his gun.

Dracus smiled, though not understanding the literal translation The conman was obviously closer to the warrior than he had believed, being so anxious to drop his only line of defense at the first threat. The Earthman however . . . "Actually, it's the control for the conduction units on the lieutenant's body. I believe, though I admit I'm not a qualified professional, that one push of the button at the highest intensity would be the equivalent of death by electrical impulse."

"Well, that's a damn sight better than torture," Starbuck remarked casually, but his body was taut with tension.

"Is that true, _Café Colonial_? Are you wired?" Dayton could see cuts or _incisions_ all the way down the lieutenant's body, some of them oozing varying amounts of blood onto his tattered uniform, but what lay beneath he couldn't tell. Then again, there was something peaking out beneath that mane of hair . . . It came far too close to all the horrors and indignities he had suffered or had been forced to witness at the hands of Torg and Bex when the pirates had threatened him or his men with the Obediator.

Starbuck sniffed at the nickname. Leave it to Dayton to not let up, even in a life or death situation. It was reassuring under the circumstances. "More or less. Though, according to Guido, they departed from wires in torture technology deca-yahrens ago."

That was enough for Chameleon. He dropped the weapon, stepping back from it.

Forget me!" rasped Starbuck in panic as he heard the sound of metal hit the deck. _Surely to God they hadn't dropped their weapons! _ "Take this piece of Boray mong out!"

"_Commander Dayton_." Dracus' thumb was poised over the button as the Earthman stared him down, his back straightening, his jaw set, refusing to yield. "Did you want a little demonstration? Do you _doubt_ my word?" His voice rose with his ire at the other's silent rebellion, and he cranked the dial back to the left, hitting the button without pause.

Starbuck's body went rigid, straining at the shackles and arching his back, as electrical impulses shot through him. The chair shifted under his momentum. Dayton dropped the longsword as if the grip was suddenly red-hot. It was over a moment later. Starbuck slumped back in the chair.

"You bastard . . ." Dayton snarled at the bureautician before striding towards the young man. "If he's dead, I'll kill you, you piece of shit!" He pulled off the blindfold, cradling the limp head and brushing the sweaty hair back from his eyes. "You okay, kid?" The young man was ashen, his mouth hanging open, eyes unfocused.

"Starbuck!" Chameleon cried from his other side.

The warrior let out a shuddering breath, blinking his eyes to see Dayton and then Chameleon staring at him in concern. He winced, as muscles continued to twitch involuntarily in aftershock. Shifting his astrum, or what he could still feel of it, he moved back in the chair. "Define . . . 'okay'," he rasped as he took a mental inventory, careful to note that his military briefs were pleasantly _un_soiled, possibly due to the fact that they had never affixed the last conductor. His spirits thus buoyed, he added, "Great rescue. Did you get your ground assault training at your corner coffee shop?"

Dayton smiled grimly, patting the younger man's cheek. He had a point. Next time—if there _was_ a next time—they'd move it up to a three step plan.

Starbuck smiled slightly looking back at his father. Somehow he couldn't quite believe that Chameleon had come. Just as he had promised. He blinked, squinting as he focused on the aging conman once again. He appeared to be wearing . . . a _dress_. "Something _else_ you wanted to tell me . . . ?" he asked hesitantly. Maybe the Factuality Elixir wasn't so short lived after all . . . or so he hoped.

Chameleon only smiled, his relief evident, words failing him.

"You said you were out of practice, Commander Dayton. Does that mean you actually know how to wield a sword?" Dracus asked curiously as he watched them, kicking Siress Rea's weapon over to his assassin. He wondered for a brief moment what had become of her, then discounted it as unimportant.

"Academy fencing champion, my senior year," replied Dayton, rather creatively. It sounded more impressive than, 'well, I joined this group of eclectic people who liked to dress in historical costumes, drink beer, and then stage sword fights . . .'

"Academy?"

"United States Air Force Academy, Class of '93."

"All of which means so little. So?" He indicated the blade on the floor. "What do you say?"

"It _was_ . . . a long time ago." Dayton answered slowly, crossing his arms, scratching his chin nonchalantly, and wondering if he could stall for more time. Ryan would be wondering why he hadn't checked in. There was still hope. Despite his blithe and lighthearted manner, his friend was like a half-starved wolf on the scent of wounded prey when push came to shove. Ryan wouldn't let him down. "But they say it's like riding a bicycle. It all comes back."

"Then I challenge you, Commander. Winner leaves _alive_." Dracus smiled, turning for a longsword displayed on the wall. He clipped the control unit to his belt and lifted the magnificent weapon off the wall, leaving Guidobaldo to cover them with the laser.

"Winner also gets that remote," added Dayton. "Not to mention, my two friends here."

"That goes without saying."

"I'd rather it was said."

The sword reminded the Earthman of an Earth _katana_, the blade long, curved and single-edged with no obvious cross guard. Obviously hand-forged in the traditional manner by a master smith, it was a truly magnificent piece of work, one that any _samurai _would have been honoured to call his own. The historian in him paused as he gazed at it in wonder, again finding a parallel between their two civilizations, star systems apart.

"You are impressed?" asked the renegade Councilman, indicating the sword.

"Well, 'impressed' doesn't really cover it, Sire Dracus. An incredible piece of workmanship. Very like one from my own planet."

"An fellow aficionado?" asked Dracus, brow raised.

"Not exactly, but my father was an historian. I had a very liberal education."

"Indeed. What a shame to see it go to waste when I take your head off. You may choose your own weapon, Commander."

"Oh? In that case, where's the lieutenant's laser?" Dayton quipped, reminded of Harrison Ford in _Raiders of the Lost Ark_. Meanwhile, he quickly assessed the other swords, keeping in mind what he might be able to handle after enough years out of the SCA, rather than what looked the most impressive. There was a huge broadsword, but the thing had no crossguard and it looked like it weighed a ton. A blade similar to a _rhomphaia _was tempting, as was the one resembling a Dacian _falx._ In the end, he chose the closest thing to a side-sword that he could find. Just over three feet long with a tapered, double-edged blade, a ricasso above the cross guard, and a jeweled pommel. He could handle it single-handed or use the ricasso to double-hand it and improve his grip. Hell, if luck was with him, he could get in close and half-sword it like he did in the old days. The _very old days_, he reminded himself, hoping his old joints were up to it. He still wasn't exactly back to normal after decades of nothing but _koivee _to eat. All the same, it would be an advantage over the _katana_, and he could use every advantage available to him.

"Come now, Commander Dayton. Don't despair so soon. I admit, it has also been yahrens since _I_ dueled. I would not have challenged you if I didn't think we were evenly matched," Dracus reassured him as he practiced a few strokes.

"That's a comfort."

Starbuck snorted in disbelief. "Yeah, he said the same to me _just_ before he shackled me to this fracking chair." He shook the restraints, his muscles somewhere between numbness and insensibility with the enforced immobilization followed by the beating and electrical shock.

"The lieutenant is exaggerating. I never intended to fight you, Starbuck. Just kill you after I acquired the information I desired."

"Ah. Am I too much of a man for you, Dracus?" Starbuck scoffed.

"Remember, Lieutenant, I still hold the key to your pain and the ultimate instrument of your death." He patted the remote unit fondly, his finger hovering over the button as his eyes bored into Starbuck's.

"And if you try and use it, all bets are off and I kill you, Dracus," said Dayton.

"Brave words for the position you find yourself in," drawled the Sire, indicating the laser that Guidobaldo held with a surprisingly steady hand.

"Prepared to bet your life on that?" asked the astronaut.

"You military types are all alike. Your supposed honour hinges on empty threats and false bravado." Dracus looked measuredly from Dayton to Starbuck, smiling smarmily. "You really don't know when to quit, do you? Is it in the blood . . . or the regulations manual?"

"How can you stand yourself, Dracus?" Starbuck sneered. "_You_ go on about the honour and glory of the old days 'when things were decided by the blade', and then you restrain me to a chair letting your _lackey_ use electronic felgercarb on me. You don't know _mong_ about honour and glory. All _you've_ done is read about it and then acquired the weapons of those long dead who once lived it. It's not one and the same, you sniveling, two-faced reprobate." He could see Dracus' face flushing with anger and his finger twitching over the remote, just itching to begin cranking the dial to the right. It didn't bode well, but, Sagan, it felt good to get under the man's skin. So he did what he usually did . . . pressed on. "And then you challenge Dayton to a duel. He's got twenty yahrens on you, all of them spent in slavery. He's old, grey and slow."

"Hey!" Dayton shouted in affront, but the warrior continued to rave regardless.

"You don't even have the slightest amount of courage that it would take to even the odds . . ." Starbuck spat, his visage reflecting his obvious disgust.

"Enough!" Dracus hollered, his finger again poised over the red button, the malignant look on his face spelling out his obvious lethal intent.

"Wait, Dracus! You said you wanted a duel, so let's get on with it!" Dayton cried, moving into position with sword in hand. He yelled back over his shoulder, "Starbuck, shut the hell up! Are you _trying_ to get yourself killed? Gag him if you have to, Chameleon, but keep him quiet!"

"Sire Dracus." The voice sharp and insistent. They turned to where Guidobaldo was again climbing to his feet, grunting in pain, his tunic covered in his blood, his injured hand dangling limply against his side, his other one holding the laser. "I'm curious, Sir. How would the lieutenant _propose_ that we 'even the odds'?"

Dracus' gaze fell back on the warrior as he gripped his sword with both hands, facing Dayton . . . who, he noted, might actually know what he was _doing_ with the side-sword. He could feel that familiar stirring, that blood lust he experienced every time he competed, begin to ebb . . . and a glimmer of fear take its place. "Do tell us, Lieutenant."

"Easy. Fight _me_." Starbuck replied, looking down his own bloodied frame, aware he looked less than intimidating. That's exactly what he wanted Dracus to think. "Not longswords though. Your other . . _. fetish_. Daggers."

"Daggers?" Dracus asked. "Colonial Warriors don't know the first thing about fighting with daggers."

"Prepared to bet your life on that?" Starbuck grinned dangerously, egging the man on while holding his gaze, "Try me."

The bureautician considered it for a moment. After all, with what they had put him through, the lieutenant looked as though he could barely stand, never mind fight with a weapon that Colonial Warriors weren't trained with. But he had underestimated Starbuck before, and had regretted it. Hades, the man had escaped from Cylon patrols, jumped into their cities, and even infiltrated a Base Ship! When he looked searchingly in those unwavering blue eyes, he could see unshakeable confidence . . . and his own ultimate demise.

"Remember his betrothed is Empyrean, and they are known for their skill with the blade, especially those who joined the Fleet from the planet Empyrean, such as the princesses. I would be very surprised if Ensign Luana hasn't shared some of those skills with her fellow warriors," Guidobaldo mentioned carefully as Dracus looked at him in surprise. "I make it my business to know such things, sir," he said, pain obvious behind the words.

"Either you're _Sumatra Extra Bold_, or you're just plain stupid, kid. He's mine, Starbuck. Back off," Dayton shook his head at the pilot.

"This is _my_ fight, Dayton." Starbuck snapped back, straining at his bonds.

"Damn it, Lieutenant. You're in no shape for a fight!" He used his superior officer tone.

"Frack that. I'm still breathing!" The warrior returned.

"My, my, everyone is certainly _eager_ to have a chance to kill me," Dracus muttered in amusement. "Should I feel honoured, or annoyed?"

"Well," Chameleon interjected politely. "From where we're standing, you must admit, you're a rather despicable individual. More loathsome than Borellian intestinal worms, in my humble opinion. _After_ excretion, of course." He smiled slightly, carefully keeping himself between Guidobaldo's weapon and his son. He needed to get that remote unit off Dracus. But how? Guidobaldo was covering him, but he was down to one functional hand. But which was his dominant one? Chameleon kicked himself for not having bothered to find out since it would have a bearing on his aim . . .

"Come on, Dracus. Let's finish this. Man to man. Now." Dayton baited him, again raising his sword. "If you have the guts. Or the balls." His ensuing smile was challenge enough.

"All right, Commander. If you _insist_." Dracus smiled, lifting his own sword and rushing the man.

----------

"This way," said Apollo, referring to his data pad as Ryan and Baker leaned over each of his shoulder's anxiously. "Boomer?"

"On your wake, Captain."

----------

If Dracus was expecting Dayton to fall for his first move, he was sadly mistaken. Dayton sidestepped him with seeming ease, blocking his swing. The blades clanged like bells, their sound falling dead in the cloistered chamber. After separating, they found themselves opposite to where they had begun.

"If that was your idea of an attack. . ." began Dayton with a loud chuckle. _Man alive, it felt good to hold a sword again. _He shifted the weight, surprisingly light in his hands, getting used to the feel of his chosen weapon.

"Shut up!" snapped Dracus.

"And your mother wears open-toed combat boots!" Dayton blathered, grinning as he watched the other's somewhat confused response. The gradual anger washing across his face was a welcome sight.

"You will regret that," hissed Dracus.

"I doubt it! You gonna fight or talk?"

With a snarl of anger, Dracus attacked again, although this time it was better executed. He feinted, and fell back, trying to draw his opponent into a vulnerable position. Reacting cautiously, Dayton _swished the _weapon in front of him, forcing the other to scurry back, keeping his distance. Dracus raised his sword, and brought it down, trying to force Dayton's aside, and create an opening. The Earthman blocked it with an upthrust. The bureautician hissed in pain. He danced back out of the way, escaping the encounter with a deep cut on the edge of his hand.

Dayton grinned at him as he drew first blood. "My point. Hurts?"

Dracus' reply was unintelligible as he renewed his attack, faster than Dayton would have given the sedentary Councilman credit for. He brought his blade down hard on Dayton's. The Earthman moved forward, letting his blade slide along Dracus', until it caught on the lips of the _ricasso_, then he shoved hard upwards and whipped his own blade hard over. The bureautician nearly lost his grip on the sword, one hand coming away, as he staggered back a few steps. Clearly, he hadn't expected it. Dayton grinned triumphantly.

For a moment, Dracus stood back, breathing hard. It had indeed been yahrens since his dueling days, and he was feeling it. While not heavy, he was simply out of shape. The Earthman also had a great deal of natural ability, which shamefully he couldn't profess. His skills came from yahrens of practice, which lately was sorely lacking. His eyes flickered to the lieutenant, almost regretting that he hadn't taken on the younger man instead. He looked pointedly at his henchman, nodding a silent message. He _would_ win this engagement one way or the other.

For Dayton's part, he was breathing easier. For the first time ever, he realized that a prolonged diet of koivee had at least warded off the middle age spread that had affected his opponent. He could feel the adrenaline rushing through his body, and welcomed the powerful energy boost it provided him.

"Not bad," said Dracus, sparing a glance at his wounded hand, and then holding it up for the other to see. "My compliments."

"Thanks. I'll put that on my resume." He noticed the control unit hanging precariously off the other's belt, obviously jostled loose during the skirmish. He caught Chameleon's eye for a moment, nodding his head towards Dracus. The conman nodded briefly. He had already noticed.

As Dayton considered his next move, something caught his eye. Guidobaldo raised his weapon, the image reflected in the polished surface of a silver ewer on a stand. At the same moment, Chameleon shouted his name in warning.

Dayton side-stepped and pivoted, blade pointed towards the wounded henchman as laser fire shot harmlessly past him. With a lunge, he caught the other's laser, sending it flying from his grip. It flew off into a dark corner, almost hitting Chameleon, as Guidobaldo gasped in shock. Dayton winced apologetically at the conman who hurried to recover it.

The assassin lunged forward.

"I don't think so!" Dayton yelled, cutting him off with a downward stroke that put his blade between the weapon and the killer like a castle wall. He quickly turned, moving to where he could see _both _men, his blade still pointed at the killer. "You try anything like that again and they'll be fitting you for hooks by morning. Got me, Guido, old boy?"

He held the point of his sword to Guidobaldo's gut. When the thug didn't answer, he flicked the blade across the enforcer's tunic. The assassin winced as the point cut through the fabric and into his flesh. "Got me? Huh?"

"Yeah," nodded the other, taking a step back, bowing his head, and again cradling his arm. He seemed almost submissive.

"Good boy." He nodded, turning towards the conman who was returning, weapon in hand. "Watch him, Chameleon."

"Dayton!" Starbuck yelled in warning.

Dayton turned to see Dracus' blade bearing down on him. He thrust his blade upward barely in time, blocking a blow that would almost certainly have ripped deep into his flesh. He stumbled backwards under the force. The two blades scraped metal on metal, then with one more powerful shove and momentum on his side, Dracus pushed Dayton away. The commander lost his footing, unable to recover his balance, and tumbled onto his back, knocking the breath from his lungs. Simultaneously, the control unit hit the floor, skittering away.

With everyone distracted, Guidobaldo leapt for the old conman, knocking him down, the weapon again sliding across the deck. He scampered towards the laser, but Chameleon grabbed his ankle, and he crashed to the deck once again.

"Frack!" Starbuck shouted helplessly, eyes swinging from one battle to the other as he jerked at his bonds uselessly.

"My point, Commander." Dracus gloated down at the astronaut as he raised his blade with a laugh, and brought it down in a deadly blinding arc.


	88. Chapter 88

"Lieutenant?" asked Adama.

"We be on final approach now, Commander," said Croad, piloting the shuttle. The _Rising Star_ was full in the viewports. "Approach control has us now. Touchdown in four centons, sir."

"Good. Any word from my son?" He carefully controlled his features.

"Nothin' so far, Sir."

Adama nodded, stroking his chin thoughtfully. He could barely believe how the recent events had unfolded since hearing the good news that Bojay's landing party were safely returning from Axius after the refugees and pirates had been essentially _traded_ for them. Now it appeared as though Sire Dracus was further involved in this quagmire than they had first thought. A man of such previously unquestionable integrity, a man he had known casually—or not known, as the case may be—for well over twenty yahrens. It left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. A reminder to completely trust no one? That Human nature could be as evil and twisted as that of any Cylon? That enemies existed within the Fleet as well as without?

He took a deep breath, straightening his shoulders. And now Starbuck had been abducted, albeit having successfully activated Komma's PAP program first according to the corporal. Every centon that passed made it less likely that the lieutenant would be found alive. A young man that through his constant companionship to Apollo . . . and his early on-again off-again relationship with Athena . . . had in many ways become like another son to him, however reluctantly. Long had he tried to enfold Starbuck in their family, sensing the warrior's deep routed need to belong. Equally long, had Starbuck danced on the periphery, seemingly unsure whether he was crossing some invisible line of propriety, having never known the unconditional acceptance of 'family'.

Adama couldn't help but wonder how much of Starbuck's attraction to Athena had been instinctual, and how much of it had stemmed from a subconscious 'legitimate solution' to definitively situating himself within their household after spending many of his furloughs with Apollo's family. He had actually breathed a sigh of relief when the romance seemed to fizzle out of its own accord, knowing that their obvious 'chemistry' would never overcome the differences that always seemed to have one of them looking for commitment as the other sought some much needed 'space'.

And now Starbuck had finally found his family. His _real_ family. The one he could accept without question through the mystical connection of love with Luana, and the more scientifically conclusive evidence of blood with Chameleon. It still felt a bit like a dream that Chameleon had finally come forth about his true relationship to the lieutenant, _and_ even more so that the warrior was engaged to an Empyrean princess. The young man's usually stormy flight path seemed to be finally affecting a course correction towards a smoother destiny. Or so Adama had thought.

Enter Dracus.

The burdens of leadership and _fatherhood_. There were some days that it all seemed too much. Like today.

----------

Dracus gloated, his eyes wide and fierce, his face contorted in triumph. With sword raised high, he held a moment, savouring the sight of a defenseless Dayton lying there as good as dead. He laughed as he began the downward strike with his sword.

"NOOOOO!!!!!!!" Starbuck screamed, the chair rocking from his struggle. Dracus' eyes flickered to him mockingly for an instant. Almost at the same time, Chameleon shouted piercingly.

It was all Dayton needed.

Desperately looking for an opening, he abruptly kicked out, his shoe connecting with Dracus' left knee. With a cry of shock, the renegade Sire staggered backwards, then cursed as the astronaut's foot hooked his ankle, yanking hard. With a sharp cry, he toppled to the deck, grunting as the wind was knocked out of him. Dayton was on his feet in a streak, grip tightening on his weapon.

Starbuck gritted his teeth, his shackles biting into his wrists as he watched Dayton's sword pursue Dracus, the sound of the blade scraping against the deck echoing through the chamber. The bureautician rolled out of the way, moving faster than a man of his position should and he regained his feet, backing up as Dayton advanced. The Councilman was puffing hard.

"Good . . . move, Earthling," he said, the two antagonists less than a metron apart, blades poised. "I confess to not having seen that one coming."

"It's 'Earth_man_', if you don't mind," replied Dayton with a wince, obviously recognizing yet another victim of Ryan's twisted influence. "I like to keep 'em guessing,"

"Alright, guess this!" hissed Dracus.

He lunged forward, his blade slashing upwards, as he knocked Dayton's aside and kept on advancing. But the Earthman was ready, bringing his own weapon back down with all the strength he could muster. He lashed out with a leg to trip his opponent once more, but Dracus was prepared. He half-turned, escaping Dayton's boot by scant centimetrons.

The Commander pulled back somewhat, and slashed backwards, hand on the weapon's _ricasso_. Dracus hurled himself back too slowly, crying out in pain as Dayton's sword found a target, slashing across the fabric of his tunic and superficially slicing the flesh of his abdomen.

"You . . ." snarled Dracus, lunging once more.

Again Dayton was ready. He spun about, using the sword's deadly arc as a wide shield, then finished his turn still swinging. This time Dracus blocked his attack just a micron too late.

The bureautician shrieked in pain as the cutting edge of Dayton's sword connected with his upper right arm. Starbuck could _almost _hear the fabric of Dracus' sleeve rip, and feel his own flesh rending from the notched edge on the battered blade, his recent experience with Regus still fresh in his mind. Blood spread in an ever-widening circle around the bureautician's wound.

"Yes!" Starbuck yelled encouragingly as Dayton pulled back a few steps, keeping his sword moving in front of him, concentrating on his foe.

_ The Commander grinned at the warrior before taunting Dracus, "_Hurts?"

Dracus' only reply was a snarl. He resumed his attack.

Throughout the entire chamber they battled, each man seemingly taking his turn to press the advantage. Starbuck gritted his teeth time and time again as Dracus drew Dayton closer and closer to him, getting infinite pleasure out of their blades clashing nearby enough to give him an old-fashioned shave—whether he needed it or not. He spared another glance at his father, still grappling with Guidobaldo, but behind him and almost out of sight, before the flash of a blade cutting mere millimetrons before his face regained his immediate attention. He reared back, sucking in a breath as the chair rocked on its rear legs.

Dayton ducked a swipe from the Councilman, and then slipped behind him. Dracus retreated, drawing closer to Starbuck again. He grinned menacingly for a micron at the restrained warrior, and looked meaningfully at the Commander.

"Enough!" Dayton hollered in fury. "He's harmless, Dracus. Leave him alone."

"Harmless!" Dracus scoffed, his face a mask of hatred. "Like a Black-Hooded Borellian Serpens, he's harmless."

"Sounds like one of your relatives to me, buster."

"Even without the control box, I _still_ have plans for him."

"So Siress Rea said. Hey, you agreed. If _I_ win, _he's_ part of the package. We're out of here." Dayton reminded the other.

"I never planned on _you _winning." Dracus snarled. "He's mine!"

"Well, here's something that's _not_ yours any more," hissed Dayton

The Earthman turned, a brief look of regret in his grey eyes, before his blade crashed into a highly polished vase. It shattered as it smashed into pieces on the deck, fragments flying every which way.

"No!" Dracus yelled, watching in horror as the crockery flew to bits. "NO! NO, YOU CANNOT . . .!"

Dayton looked back to him briefly, then away. Dracus howled again as the astronaut's weapon executed three more pieces of beautiful antique pottery in an encompassing sweep. "Then leave _him_ out of this!" Dayton hollered back. "This is between you and I, Bub. _To the death_."

The bureautician seemed to hesitate a few moments, breathing heavily, eyes rapidly darting from Starbuck, to his ruined treasures, then back to Dayton. With a slight nod, he raised his sword to the other almost mockingly. "Very well." Then he rushed the Earthman again.

It was like a battle between knights of yore . . . except they were only centons into it and they were both obviously tiring. The moves became slower, the recoveries longer, the attacks further apart. Then, when Starbuck thought someone might collapse from exhaustion, Dayton raised his sword, rushing Dracus once again. The Councilman met the challenge, his sword countering each strike, sparks flying, as he steadily backed up. . . straight towards Starbuck.

"Whoa . . ." The lieutenant resisted the compelling urge to close his eyes just before impact.

Dracus' cried out in surprise, obviously not as aware of his surroundings as a trained warrior would have been as he collided with the incapacitated Colonial Warrior. They crashed into the deck, the Sire's limbs entangling with the immobilized lieutenant's as the noblemen twisted to free himself. Starbuck's restrained arms wrenched tortuously behind him as his full weight _and _the bureautician's slammed into them, wedging them beneath chair back and deck. He cried out in agony, his face twisted and eyes shut. He was certain he had dislocated _something_. Finally, he opened his eyes to see Dracus glaring down at him in frustration and anger. Starbuck met the gaze steadily, and then froze as he spied Dayton looming over them, his sword raised for the kill.

If was as if Dracus could see the attack reflected in Starbuck's eyes. Abruptly, the nobleman's position shifted until the blade was at the lieutenant's throat in a single-handed grip.

"Back off, Commander! Or I'll cut his bloody throat!" Dracus challenged.

"And if you do, what hold do you have over me, asshole?" breathed Dayton. "He dies, _you_ die!"

_My hero_, Starbuck mused silently, even knowing the Earthman was trying to maintain his advantage. Still Dracus stared malevolently down at him. The warrior kept watch over the bureautician's shoulder as Dayton hesitated, his reluctance to proceed clear despite his words. The warrior shook his head slightly from side to side, his glare conveying what his words couldn't with an antique blade pressed against his neck, each movement causing it to saw into fragile flesh. All it would take was one quick lethal blow from Dayton to end this. Besides, his arms and right shoulder were killing him and he'd sure as Hades rather die from something a little more threatening than a _dislocated_ shoulder.

"I wouldn't move if I were you, Lieutenant," Dracus growled, watching the blood begin to seep around his blade.

"You're _not,_" he rasped at the bureautician, seeing the reluctance in Dayton's eyes just before the astronaut backed off. Jerking his right leg free of a broken chair leg, he drove it into the man's ribcage.

"Umphh!"

Miraculously—though Starbuck would never admit it—the pressure of the blade released against his throat as Dracus' balance was upset and he tumbled across the lieutenant's shoulder.

"Dayton!!"

Starbuck followed the sound of his father's voice to see Chameleon and Guidobaldo grappling for the laser, the injured killer on top of the elderly conman. He groaned in dismay as his father's bloodied face starred back briefly while the assassin repeatedly smashed his hand into the deck, both men maintaining a grip on the weapon as Guidobaldo's knee pressed into Chameleon's chest. It was amazing that the thug was still functional, given his serious wound. As if in response to that very thought, Chameleon grabbed the mutilated arm, twisting it. The killer's eyes went wide, crying out in pain, but he otherwise he pressed on, determined to regain the advantage. His capacity for pain was inhuman.

Dayton leapt into action.

Lords, if anyone had ever told Starbuck that he would be entrusting his life and his father's to a man who had clearly intended to destroy the entire Fleet, he would have bought them, not to mention _himself_, another drink . . . afterdecking them first, of course. Yet here he was watching, powerlessly _watching,_ as Dayton was the one trying to save them both with some prehistoric weapon.

Dayton roared, "Get off of him, you slimy, sociopathic bastard!" He ran towards the assassin, his blade extended before him.

Chameleon released the weapon as his hand pummeled yet again into the hard surface. For the second time, the laser skittered across the floor. Guidobaldo dived for it, rolling across the deck and again landing on his feet, the blaster in his hand. He turned on a cubit . . . straight into Dayton's fist.

It must have been a powerful blow, more powerful than Starbuck recalled being on the receiving end of, since the killer dropped like a stone. After all the swordplay, the blow seemed almost ordinary . . . but was nonetheless damned effective.

Starbuck glanced back at his father who was slowly sitting up, wiping the blood from a gash over his eye. The conman's eyes met his for an instant, before glancing behind him and seemingly above him in absolute horror. Starbuck turned his head . . .

Dracus was looming over him, his blade raising as he readied for a killing blow. Starbuck sucked in a lungful of air, preparing himself for the final stroke. It briefly entered his head that when he had enlisted, he had always expected to die violently. Exploding into space dust, blasted into charred flesh, maybe even mutilated in some unholy Cylon experimental laboratory. But _never_ had he expected to be sliced and diced into cutlets by another Human, and one, that as a member of the illustrious Council of Twelve, he had many a time fought to protect. _Talk about a frackin' kick in the head!_ Still, he refused to close his eyes. He would look death in the face and call it by name.

"Fracking piece of mong . . ." he spat, even as his guts twisted in preparation for the end.

"Ahhhhh!!!!" screamed Dracus, suddenly flailing backwards, his face a rictus of pain.

Starbuck startled as he saw the Councilman staggering, blood running down his once-immaculate tunic. A knife was visible beneath his left collarbone, before the bureautician pulled it out reflexively, but where the frack had it . . .?

As if shot by a cannon, Dayton was upon the other, attacking again. Dracus struggled to block Dayton's attacks, but he was obviously weakening, his blade barely managing to do the job with injuries on either side. Dayton seemed to roar, like a mad beast, his sword strokes ripping chunks out of the massive wooden carving behind the other when his wild strikes went wide. Another blow sent a stone carving crashing to the floor in chunks. Then, having backed Dracus up against another sculpture, he landed a stunning blow. Dracus slammed into the stone, and this time did not block. Dayton brought his blade down on the other's collarbone, just a few inches from the neck, and blood spewed from the wound as the tempered tylinium bit deep.

Dracus screamed in agony as the sword ripped into him, feebly trying to raise his own weapon in response. Dayton struck again, sending the other's sword flying from his grip, a couple of Dracus' fingers still wrapped around the grip. Hammered by pain, desperately seeking escape, Dracus tried to run, but there was no way out. He retreated, his eyes wide with fear, backing up a spiral staircase that Starbuck could barely see in the shadows. His hand somehow found the illumination switch along the way, revealing an upper gallery. Starbuck gasped when he saw it was also filled with treasures. Abruptly, the room broke into further chaos when the main chamber began to fill with more people.

"What the . . .? Where . . . ?"

"Starbuck . . ."

"Captain!"

"Dayton?"

"Holy frack! I'll call the med team!"

"Mark? Where is he. . .?"

Apollo, Boomer, Ryan, Baker, Dickins and Porter, assorted Security personnel including Reece and Willem. All yelling questions at him, staring in wonder at the scene around them. Porter and Dickins running to Chameleon's side, Boomer to Starbuck's, Willem shouting into his communicator, Apollo turning in a circle, taking it all in.

"Help me!" Dracus begged, his voice hoarse.

"No! Stop!" Apollo yelled as he caught sight of the unarmed bureautician being pursued by the Earthman up the spiral staircase.

"Apollo, wait!" Starbuck yelled at his friend, hoping to curtail any ridiculous notion that the captain might entertain about intervening. Besides, his shoulder was screaming in agony, and if someone didn't do something about it soon, he might just humiliate himself by passing out again. Apollo turned towards him uncertainly, pausing in indecision. In retrospect, it probably saved his life.

Dracus stumbled on the stairs, catching himself on the railing, but Dayton was relentless, as Starbuck knew he would be. The Earthman had that cold, determined look on his face that Starbuck had briefly seen in the Control Center on the pirate base just before the Commander snapped the attendant's neck. There was no going back now, and God help anyone who accidentally got in the way. Gripping the _ricasso, _Dayton back-slashed Dracus, ripping into his gut, the blood spattering as stood there. Dracus screamed in agony, as Dayton's sword came down, ripping his chest apart from shoulder to belly. With a convulsive vomiting of blood, the murderous Councilman toppled over the railing . . .

And shrieked like a soul, damned for eternity in the Underworld. Starbuck watched Dayton's impassive features as he looked down to see the other, face upwards, body skewered on one of his precious treasures. Impaled upon a metal obelisk, it almost seemed poetic justice considering what the Councilman had done to try and ensure the secrecy of his precious collection of art. Dracus' body continued to contort for a few microns, as Starbuck heard him gasp futilely for a breath. The newly arrived men stood around him uselessly, mouths agape, staring in abject horror. The bureautician seemed to raise his head to consider Dayton, then with a soft gurgle fell still.

"Book 'em, Danno." Dayton rasped down to Apollo before he collapsed onto the railing, gasping for breath and dropping his sword. Starbuck was worried that the man's heart would give out any moment. Dayton vaguely looked behind him, seemingly unaware of why feet were trampling up the stairs. Then he turned, looking down at Starbuck through the finely sculpted tylinium railing, his head resting against a crossbar.

"Old, grey and slow, huh, _Caffeine Kid_?" he called down to the warrior.

"Maybe there's still some life in you, after all." Starbuck returned, grimacing as Boomer began to laser his way through the shackle restraining his other ankle. He glanced over to see Dickins and Porter pulling his father to his feet, and Willem checking over the unconscious Guidobaldo. It all seemed to be happening in a blur.

"Not a hell of a lot," replied Dayton, when Ryan and Baker appeared behind him, catching him as he slumped into their awaiting arms. "Could use an Iced Decaf Triple Grande Vanilla Non-fat with whip Latte, Starbuck," he smiled blearily. "Maybe." He blinked as Ryan came into view. "Eh, Paddy?"

"Yeah, right. I'd love to see the day come that you're sitting your lazy ass in one of those big ole armchairs sipping on _any_ coffee that you need a team of Pacific Northwesters to interpret for you." Ryan replied, his eyes running over his best friend critically, his hands following their path as he assessed each and every knick, cut or gash even knowing a medic was on the way. _Old habits died hard._ His gaze flickered over Dracus. _As did old Councilmen, apparently._ "You're gonna live, you raving lunatic." He smiled down at Dayton before returning his attention to Dracus' body. "Looks like a cut and dried case of self-defense to _me_."

Baker snorted his agreement as they began to lift their commanding officer.

"Frack, Starbuck . . ." Apollo murmured, leaning over his friend, ignoring the remark for the moment. Bloody, beaten, restrained, tiny pads all over his body that had been doing God-only-knows-what. He shook his head in disbelief as he looked around again at the carnage, his eyes irresistibly drawn to Dracus' hideous corpse as Ryan's words came back to him. _Self-defense?_ "Where's that med team?"

"Get me up." Starbuck insisted through gritted teeth, his shoulder pulsating in pain. "And if anyone finds a black control box, for Sagan's sake, _don't_ push the red button."

"What the frack happened?" Apollo asked.

"Dayton and Chameleon saved my astrum, that's what happened." Starbuck averred. If anyone had _any_ intention of pressing charges against the Earthman for his apparent savagery, he wanted it imminently clear that Dayton had acted out of necessity. It was self-defense, as Ryan had said. "Get me up. I think my shoulder's dislocated . . . It's frackin' killing me."

"Boomer." Apollo nodded at the lieutenant, and together they pulled the three-legged chair upwards.

Starbuck's head swam at the abrupt jolt of pain as his shoulder shifted when the pressure was released. Then when they pulled him upright . . . "Oh, Lord . . ." The dizziness was almost as bad as the sudden urge to vomit.

"Easy, buddy. We've got you." Apollo's voice reassured him.

It was a short moment later his arms were released and his head was between his knees. He could hear further voices entering the scene, med techs by the sound of it. Starbuck's right arm was still twisted painfully behind him, and he was sure if anyone touched it that he would scream like a banshee. But at least the pain drew him back from the edge of oblivion. He gingerly sat up, blinking as Apollo faded in and out in front of him.

"I almost thought we'd lost you." Apollo mused, shaking his head ruefully as he pushed Starbuck's hair from his eyes.

"The transceiver . . . died?" Starbuck asked.

"Yeah." He frowned at the choice of words, and at the trail of blood from where the transceiver had been implanted on his wingman.

"Thought so."

"Sorry I let you down." Apollo winced, his obvious guilt weighing heavily on his mind. "When we found your trail in the secret passageway, we couldn't get through the hatch. Then we had to retrace our steps and contact Komma to find out whose quarters you'd been dragged into. Ryan and Baker basically drew the same conclusion by a different set of circumstances." _Though those were a little suspicious_, the captain reminded himself.

Starbuck considered the words. It was taking him a bit too long to process the information now that the adrenaline had stopped pumping through his system. "Secret passageway?"

"He was unconscious when Guidobaldo dragged him through there." Boomer reminded Apollo, looking over to see the savaged Guidobaldo being hefted to his feet. Barely conscious, the former hit man and thug was being restrained by two Security Officers. "There are secret passageways in the infrastructure of the ship leading to most of the larger suites."

Starbuck nodded slowly, realizing there was still a sizable chunk of the holoptic he was missing. Speaking of . . . "Where's Chameleon?"

"Right here, son." Chameleon replied, leaning over him in concern. Bruising was already setting in on the old conman's face, and the jagged cut over his eye was still oozing blood. He looked at Dracus and added to Apollo, "Self-defense, Captain. I'll gladly swear to it on my honour if it comes to it."

"So will I." Starbuck agreed.

Apollo nodded, as Boomer raised his eyebrows. The Strike Captain was getting the idea that Dracus had deserved the violent death, at least as far as Starbuck, Chameleon and obviously Dayton were concerned. Sire Solon would be there soon enough to decide from the Colonial Jurisprudence point of view.

"Are you all right?" Starbuck asked his father, again feeling dizzy and looking over blearily to see Ryan and Baker supporting a semi-conscious Dayton down the staircase. The Earthman was covered in blood, but how much of it was his own, and how much was Dracus', the lieutenant wasn't sure. The chair rocked as he leaned in that direction over the broken chair leg and instantly three sets of hands were on him, preventing him from tumbling over.

"I'm fine, Starbuck. Just a little banged up. I held my own." Chameleon reassured him stoically, tugging at the high lace collar of his Empyrean gown and scratching his neck with seemingly enormous bloody knuckles peeking out beneath a dainty, frilled cuff.

Starbuck looked at the conman again. _Really_ looked at him. His father's gown was black and lacey, of an antiquated style, but of good quality. While a bit tattered, it generally flowed loosely over the conman's thin frame, but alternatively hugged his voluptuous bosom . . .

Starbuck gulped in a breath, his eyes rolling back as the deck abruptly pitched, trying to throw him from the chair. Then arms and hands were cradling him, gently lowering him to the deck, careful to support his right arm and shoulder. He found himself leaning back against Apollo, his vision blurry and his stomach again reeling uncomfortably. A med tech was suddenly there, running a biomonitor over him.

"Apollo?" he murmured, having trouble focusing as the med tech conferred with a peer, using a wide array of medical vernacular that Dr. Salik would be proud of.

"Yeah, buddy?"

"Why is my father . . . wearing a . . . a _dress_?" A encroaching black void seemed to be obscuring the edges of his vision. _Never a good sign._ He blinked his eyes, willing himself to stay awake for the answer.

"I don't know, Bucko." His voice amused. "I'll be sure to ask him though. Okay?" Apollo waited a moment. "Starbuck?"

But he'd already surrendered to the comfort of the immuring void.


	89. Chapter 89

"As we already thought, we found out through Corporal Komma's PAP Program that Fausto was involved in a _lot_ more than illegal sports betting. He also dealt in blackmail; stolen goods on the Black Market; Elysium trafficking; creating or fine tuning new identities for previously known criminals; registering false identities for people who never even made it out of the Colonies while pocketing their social entitlements and using their assigned quarters for storing Black Market goods or renting them out for profit; he even stole identity numbers from the _deceased_, intercepting thembefore they were forwarded to statistics and then collected benefits and pensions on their behalf." Starbuck counted the offenses off on his hands as he addressed the others two days after the most wild, out-of-control secton and a half in his life culminated in Sire Dracus' violent death in the bureautician's secret chambers on the _Rising Star_. "He also didn't hesitate to order the death of anyone who stood in his way."

"From his computer files," said Sire Solon, "we can conclusively tie Fausto to at least ten deaths since we left the Colonies. One was a termination to conveniently arrange a new identity for one of his people." The Sire snorted in disgust. "He murdered without conscience."

"Through Guidobaldo." Adama added, glancing at his chrono and realizing the convicted man was at this moment being transported to the Prison Barge for the premeditated terminations of Rogane, the son of Sire Regus; Myrddin, the Empyrean Archimagus; and Borka, the man who could finger Fausto and connect him with Luana's attempted termination as well as the failed slander campaign on Starbuck through the triad scandal.

"Yes, Sir." Starbuck nodded, an shiver of revulsion running up his spine at his memories of his tortuous treatment at the hands of Guidobaldo. Life on the Prison Barge seemed too good for that scum-licking barge rat.

How many times had he been in Commander Adama's office in a similar situation? The _unofficial debriefing_ where they pulled all the accumulated information together from all parties and tied up any loose ends. Only this time, some of the loose ends died with their bearers. He glanced around at the usual suspects, Adama, Tigh, Apollo and Boomer. In addition, Chameleon, Dayton, Ryan, Luana, Lia, Ama, Reece and Sire Solon were in attendance.

"So, I assume that Sire Dracus was known to Fausto through his Black Market dealings?" Tigh asked.

"Fausto actually tried to blackmail Dracus back on Sagittaria when the bureautician's daughter first was treated for an Elysium dependency." Apollo interjected.

"Elysium she obtained from one of Fausto's own dealers," added Solon.

"That was also where Sires Regus and Dracus first met." Apollo nodded. "After the Destruction, they met again on the _Rising Star_—both having quarters there—and it appears to be true that Fausto was gathering information on Dracus—a considerable file actually—to hold over him for blackmail."

"To what end?" Tigh asked, concern on his features. Fausto had been convicted of a multitude of charges the day before and sentenced to life on the Prison Barge.

"Manipulation of the Council," Starbuck replied. "Leniency on gambling regulations. And, of course, anything that would prevent a thorough review of the census or a detailed analysis that would ensure that appropriate and legitimate citizens were receiving social benefits, pensions, housing and food entitlements."

"This _considerable_ file on Sire Dracus . . . what was in it?" Ama asked, her eyes narrowed suspiciously as she met Adama's eyes.

"I'm afraid much of that is classified, due to the position of office he held," Adama returned briefly, his eyes settling on Starbuck briefly, noting the gritted teeth and set jaw at the unanimous Council decision to withhold much of what they had uncovered about the Councilman. "At least for the present. But, I'm sure you're all aware he was a collector of fine arts and antiques, both legitimate and stolen."

"I'm not sure how the job pays here," Dayton spoke up. "But politicians . . . uh, sorry, I mean _bureauticians_ back home can't usually afford to collect _entire_ priceless collections of art. At least not honestly."

"It is much the same here, Commander Dayton," Adama agreed.

"I understand the Black Market for precious art is immense." Ama added.

"Well, it wasn't _entirely_ Black Market art," said Chameleon. All eyes turned to him. "I knew a few people, who knew a few people, and I had my ears to the ground long before the Holocaust. Some of those works of art were Dracus' to begin with."

"Excuse me?" said Solon. "Many of them were reported as stolen yahrens ago."

"Uh, yeah. I'm lost," said Ryan. He rolled his eyes remembering that he was God only knows how many star systems from home. He winked at Dayton and added. "Boy, am I lost. In space."

Dayton sniffed tolerantly, his smile betraying his amusement with his friend.

"In one of my many . . uh, _careers_," said Chameleon, "I dealt in art." Silence fell as they all looked at him. Starbuck's eyebrows went up, his lips quirking in amusement, but Adama looked as if he would groan in dismay any micron. "I had a license," Chameleon defended himself.

_Self-issued? _mouthed Starbuck.

"Er-hem." The father cleared his throat, reading the son's lips and covering a smirk with his hand. "Anyway, Starbuck, when that painting we saw by Bottisario was reported stolen yahrens ago, it caused rumbles in the art world. It never turned up in any market, legal or otherwise. One of those vases you smashed, Commander Dayton. It vanished from a private collection on Virgon almost fifteen yahrens ago."

"How do you know?" asked Solon.

"Well. . ."

"You didn't lift it?" asked Starbuck, his brow wrinkling in consternation.

"No," replied Chameleon, shaking his head from side to side adamantly.

"Well, that's something," said Dayton.

"I was . . . trying to return it to the _registered _owner at the time. Her irresponsible son had foolishly offered it up as a bet during a card game. Technically, it wasn't his to dispose of. A charming woman . . . and so was her daughter," Chameleon grinned lopsidedly. Adama shook his head. Ama laughed softly. "Anyway, as I said, I know a thing or two about art. All those pieces once belonged to the Dracus family."

"Whoa. Now I get it," said Dayton.

"Yes. Two generations ago, back in the time of Sire Dracus' great-grandfather, Sire Dragan, the family fell on hard times. The patriarch of the family opted to liquidate many of their prized possessions to pay their debts and keep them afloat. They lost nearly everything. Mansions, estates, business holdings, _and_ a vast collection of priceless art, acquired over the centi-yahrens. Many say that the art was supposed to have been kept as an inheritance for the generations to come. However, once old Sire Dragan began to reconcile his debts, he refused to stop despite a decision made by his own father that the collection would remain in their family for all time, _no matter_ the circumstances. Each item of art in Dracus' hidden room was a piece from his family's original collection, or at least from what I know of it."

"So, he was stealing art that his family had once owned?" asked Adama.

"_Stealing_ is probably not how he thought of it, Commander. I'm sure he felt he was _recovering_ what was rightfully his. His birthright."

"Makes sense," said Starbuck. "He was always on about his family's honour, and dignity, and the way things were in 'the old days'. Still, I wonder about those swords he kept in his quarters."

"I have an eye for quality, as well." Dayton added. "He had many valuable looking pieces in his quarters _besides_ the swords, Starbuck. Paintings. Sculptures. Displayed jewelry. Some he obviously felt comfortable displaying, others he kept under wraps. I wonder why."

"So, he stashed his family's booty in secret chambers aboard the _Rising Star,_ and kept it on the move," elucidated Ama. "No wonder it was never found. You know, a man could make a good profit in resale and the careful _acquisition_ of such goods for preferred customers in order to finance his own collection, had he been at it long enough and had established a reputation." She suggested with a smile as she saw a slight frown cross Adama's feature. "If he had the _proper_ connections. Not to mention the appropriate _thug_ working for him. After all, a lot of these pieces change hands from collector to collector and never make it to a public forum so are rarely publicized."

Chameleon nodded at the Empyrean woman. "Sounds reasonable, Ama. Some were legitimately acquired though his connections. Others that couldn't be were stolen. Are you using your powers of necromancy, or simple common sense to deduce that?"

Ama grinned at Starbuck's father. "Could be that a certain Empyrean Necromancer was once approached by a man resembling Guidobaldo about selling an ancient Talisman, millennia old. But I'll never tell, Chameleon." She winked at the conman. "However, I _may_ supply a few more hints and allow you to draw a reasonable conclusion over dinner later."

"Ama!" Lia chastised her.

"So, what happens to his treasures now?" asked Ryan looking aside at Dayton. "At least what's _left_ of them."

Dayton had the good grace to wince.

"Well, most are technically stolen property, but several of those owners are long dead from even before the Destruction. They won't be claiming their property." said Solon. "The assessors are still going over what survived," he spared a look at Dayton as the Earthman squirmed again, "But conservatively, it would have fetched something in the neighbourhood of two hundred and fifty to five hundred million cubits." Several low whistles warbled around the room. "And, since there are no heirs to Dracus' estate, I don't know. Legally, they are in limbo."

"Put 'em on display," said Dayton. "From what I saw, that collection rivals anything ever produced by Earth's great masters. It should be where your people can see and enjoy their history. Their common heritage."

"Sounds good to me," said Starbuck. "We're spending all this energy educating our people about where they're going. Earth. We'd better not forget where we came from." Apollo clapped him on the shoulder, murmuring his agreement.

"Just how did Guidobaldo come to work for both Dracus and Fausto?" Tigh asked, interrupting the others.

"He wouldn't say," Reece inserted, remembering how insistent their line of questioning had been with the assassin—after the Life Station had put his arm back together. "I finally did find a file on him from Aries. Under a number of aliases, he served time for several offenses, mostly assaults and rape. He escaped from incarceration a few days before the Holocaust, apparently with help. Beyond that I can't say much about him. I _can_ tell you that Fausto was unaware his man _also_ worked for Dracus. So either Dracus had some kind of hold over Guidobaldo that died with him, or he just monetarily made it worth his while. That creep would have buried his own grandmother for the right money."

"What _I_ don't understand is why everybody seemed to want Starbuck dead," Ryan raised the point.

"You just don't know him well enough yet," Boomer quipped, dodging a feinted blow from his friend.

"I can answer that, at least from Fausto's point of view," Luana told them. "Borka told me that he thought Starbuck was on to Fausto about the triad scandal. He probably told Guidobaldo as much. They didn't know that Oriana and I went after them on our own." She could feel several looks of disapproval settle on her at that blatant fact. "I know, I know," she capitulated, holding up her hands. "I admit, I didn't have a lot of experience with Colonial criminals at the time. It was stupid in hindsight."

"But why did _Sire Dracus_ want to kill him?" Lia asked. "What had Starbuck ever done to him?"

"Yes. What was his reason?" asked Solon.

Apollo watched Starbuck shuffle uncomfortably at the mention of his intended death. "We're not really sure. We can only _assume_ that Dracus suspected that Starbuck _knew_ more than he actually did about his underhanded dealings. It could have been vengeance over Sire Regus' suicide—they were good friends—or revenge on behalf of Siress Rea, Regus' wife."

"She was certainly pushing Dracus for a slow and painful death. Then again, he seemed more than happy to accommodate her." Dayton shook his head at the memory of the incensed woman. "It's almost like the death of her husband and son put her over the edge. She seemed . . . a little crazy."

"Just a _little_?" Chameleon asked ruefully.

Reece cleared his throat. "Sire Dracus visited my office the day before the party. I . . . _believe_ he purposely positioned himself to read the screen I had up displaying some data for my records on this case. Starbuck's name figured predominantly on that data. And Dracus knew that we were poised to acquire all of Fausto's files revealing his contacts, associates and, following that line of logic, any information that Fausto had collected on _him_."

Apollo and Adama both looked up sharply.

"You didn't think it was . . . important to share your _concern_, Officer Reece?" Adama demanded.

The Security Officer squirmed, his gaze falling on Starbuck.

"Reece told me," the lieutenant admitted, glancing at Apollo reluctantly. "I honestly thought that Dracus was just being a typically meddlesome bureautician." He hesitated as Commander Adama bristled in reaction to his words. "Uh . . .sorry, Sir. It didn't occur to me that Dracus was the enemy at the time. Sagan, we were _protecting_ him after all."

Apollo sighed, realizing he would have also proceeded as scheduled, nodding at Starbuck as if to tell him as much. They had ultimately taken every precaution, but had been outmaneuvered by the cunning Dracus who, it would seem, would do anything necessary to prevent being unmasked as a secret and nefarious collector of priceless art, whether or not it originally belonged to his family. His friend nodded in reply, understanding.

"What of the Empyreans, Ama?" Adama asked her. "How are your people reacting now that Sire Regus in no longer in the running for re-election to the Empyrean Quorum?"

"Death will do that." Ama agreed almost solemnly. "Coincidentally, Sire Albus, the other head of the Empyrean Great House, and father of Lady Aurelia, has decided to resign from his career of bureaucracy. I suspected he would either pick up where Regus had left off, or abandon his ambitions altogether." She realized she sounded less than compassionate about the death of the man she had at times considered the bane of her existence, at least professionally. "This changes the complexion of a new Empyrean Quorum, Commander Adama. I was somewhat concerned that they would simply re-elect the old Council, being creatures of habit, but now that Regus and Rogane are dead, and Albus is retiring, I believe that a younger generation of Quorum members will help lead our people towards a more complete integration within the culture and body politic of the Colonial Fleet."

"What about yourself, Ama?" Adama enquired curiously.

"I'm glad you asked, Adama. I, myself, have decided to move on from Empyrean bureaucracy and will be announcing my candidacy for the Council of Twelve." She grinned widely at his look of surprise.

"I . . . I see." Adama stuttered, wondering how some of the others would react to the Empyrean Necromancer. It would be worth seeing. She would be a formidable addition. Strangely, it never crossed his mind that she _wouldn't_ get elected.

Ama smiled, moving towards Starbuck and taking his hand and pulling him over to Luana, somewhat forcibly. "And now that we have officially announced the betrothal of Luana and Starbuck, the Fleet, along with my Empyreans, will eagerly await the holy sealing ceremony that joins our decorated Colonial Warrior with an Empyrean Princess. It will be the most celebrated event of the coming yahren." She placed Luana's hand in Starbuck's. "It will be one more event that will give our people hope, as well as something to look forward to while we continue our journey to Earth."

"On that note, we're having a little celebration for Starbuck and Luana in the Officer's Club after the debriefing. Everybody's welcome." Apollo added. "We haven't really had a chance to celebrate your engagement."

"_You_ haven't had a chance?" Starbuck added ruefully, rolling his eyes and smiling at Luana. She looked as skittish as a newborn equus at the unexpected attention. He squeezed her hand reassuringly, realizing that his first instinct had also been to run, until he looked into her eyes . . . He turned back to the captain. "Thanks, Buddy."

Apollo smiled warmly at his friend in return. Lords, they deserved to celebrate after all they had been through. "The first round's on me."

"There are still a couple matters to clear up." Sire Solon added somberly. "First, despite the fact that Fausto has already been tried and convicted, he _was_ found in his partner's office severely beaten the night of the _Journey to Earth_ party. Strangely, he didn't have any memory of what had taken place, and even _insisted_ that we not pursue it."

Ryan and Baker looked briefly at Ama, who merely smiled at them reassuringly, before they returned their attention to the Chief Opposer. Apollo followed the exchange with interest remembering the Earthmen's bloody appearance when he and Boomer had met up with them. Coincidentally, they had made themselves conspicuously absent by hastening Dayton to the Life Station _before_ the Chief Opposer had arrived on the scene in Dracus' chambers. Sometimes the end justified the means.

"How interesting." Ama slowly nodded, feeling Starbuck's and her goddaughters' eyes upon her. "And you have no suspects or witnesses, Sire Solon."

"No suspects or witnesses." Solon repeated as he held the necromancer's gaze.

"And second?" Ama asked, ignoring Adama's penetrating stare. Imagine! Trying to probe _her_ mind, the Imperial Empyrean Necromancer. _Really, Adama!_

"Second." Solon paused, as he thought about it. "Ah, yes. Commander Dayton."

Dayton shifted his stiff and sore body. The wonders of Colonial medical technology had him sealed and healed from an outward point of view, however, the old body was less forgiving. It would be a while before his next stint as _Conan The Astronaut. _He drew in an uneasy breath as Solon turned towards him. The truth was he went berserk. Much like Dickins had on the asteroid base. He had decided that Dracus deserved to die, and instead of just apprehending the politician, he had cut him to pieces like some crazed Viking berserker of old. It was almost like he was sucked back into that vortex of a wormhole and hurled back into survival mode. The same survival mode that had seen him through thirty years on the pirate asteroid. Ultimately, he had lost control. Hell, he had lost _himself_ somewhere along the way. His eyes automatically fell on Starbuck. Strangely, he didn't see the accusation on the lieutenant's face that he had expected. In fact, if he wasn't mistaken, it almost looked like . . . _respect_. He wasn't sure he was prepared for that. It unnerved him. The kid was too young to be quite _that_ jaded.

"After interviewing Lieutenant Starbuck and Chameleon, I have been assured—quite adamantly, I might add—that your actions were in self-defense. Sire Dracus was armed, and challenged you, as well as attempted to kill the restrained Lieutenant Starbuck with the sword he held. Further recorded examination of the lieutenant and his condition at the time, as well as statements made by Guidobaldo during his interrogation, only support that evidence. You are exonerated of any charges of premeditated or unjustifiable termination." Solon smiled briefly.

"Thank you, Sire Solon." Dayton nodded uncomfortably. He really didn't know what else to say. He had to come to terms with his own demons. Then he saw Starbuck take a few steps toward him. _Damn, kid, not now._

"You saved my astrum in there. Maybe a lot more than just mine in the long run, Dayton." Starbuck paused. "_Commander_ Dayton," he added with a rueful smile, painfully aware he had deferred from using the Earthman's rank if at all possible.

"Hey, _Bodum Boy_, don't start calling me 'Commander' _now_." He squeezed the warrior's shoulder affectionately. "I'll begin to think you respect me."

"I . . . I might have judged you unfairly. I just want you to know . . ." Starbuck began.

"Wait a minute, _French Press_. Before you eat too much humble pie, I think you're an _excellent _judge of character. You didn't get this far in your career without it. I deserved everything you said about me, and _most_ of what you thought about me." Dayton admitted, as Starbuck paused with his mouth agape. "The thing is, kid, thirty years in Hell _does _something to a guy. Plain and simple. I'm not apologizing for it. I'm not particularly proud of it either." He shrugged. "But, what the hell? Here I am. This is all that's left of Mark Dayton."

Starbuck nodded slowly, considering the other. "Still, when Dracus was about to cut me in two, and you threw that knife, I really thought . . ."

"That wasn't me, Lieutenant Starbuck." Dayton shook his head, seeing the other pause when he called the warrior by rank _and_ name. His own rather feeble attempt to convey the immense respect he had for the pilot. Starbuck smiled briefly and nodded, acknowledging the gesture. _Damn, they built them tough in the Colonies. _ Dayton nodded towards Chameleon.

"_You_?" Starbuck asked, turning towards his father.

"Me," said Chameleon, patched up and looking much improved, other than some faint bruising on his face. "Once Guidobaldo was down, I grabbed the dirk from his boot. I saw Dracus raising his sword over you, son, and knew I had to do something. I used to be pretty good with knives. In one of my earlier lines of work, it was always good to have a . . . sharp _tool_ that could be easily concealed. So, I went for it." He exchanged looks with his son. "My luck held."

"Well, thanks," said Starbuck, feeling a rush of tenderness towards the old conman. Towards his _father. _ He laid a hand on Chameleon's shoulder, and then another on Dayton's. "Thanks to _both_ of you."

"Hey, anything I can do to keep you defending the Fleet." Dayton shrugged nonchalantly. "They tell me you are one hot fella in a cockpit."

"This is beautiful." Ryan joined them with a smile. "Really touching. It's about time you two weren't tearing at each other's throats." He looked from Starbuck to Dayton.

"Did you pitch your idea to the IFB, Ryan?" Chameleon asked curiously.

Dayton's stomach twisted. "_What_ idea?"

"Ah, a little idea I had for an action/adventure show. Two guys thrown together under unusual circumstances, fighting crime and overcoming danger within the Fleet. One an Earthman. The other a decorated Colonial Warrior. Sort of comic book style, Mark. They _loved_ it." Ryan enthused as Baker, Porter and Dickins joined them.

Starbuck sniffed in amusement as Dayton shook his head, wincing and groaning in apparent agony.

"Does it have a name yet?" Chameleon asked.

"_Mark Dayton and the Ristretto Kid_." Ryan gushed.

"How appropriate. Makes them sound like Butch and Sundance." Dickins grinned, his languatron in hand.

"Where do you think he_ stole _the idea from?" Porter elbowed the others.

"Speaking of _Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid_, Hummer's got the DVD player all set up in our quarters and wired to our monitor. It's not exactly a fifty inch Plasma TV with wet bar, but I still think we're ready for an official movie night." Baker added. "Anyone interested in coming by our quarters after the engagement party and watching a good old-fashioned Earth movie?"

"A movie?" Tigh asked, his eyes lighting up. He smiled at Adama. "I've been waiting for this."

"Go, Tigh. I'll cover the bridge." Adama nodded.

"Anyone else?" Ryan asked. A rumbling of 'yes', 'yeah', 'for sure', and enthusiastic nods filled the room as Sire Solon politely deferred chuckling softly, and exited quietly.

"I'll ask Sheba to join us, " Apollo added as an afterthought.

"And Dietra." Ryan waggled his eyebrows.

"I'm sure Hummer will want to be there." Baker suggested.

"Okay," said Boomer to Baker. "What are we going to see?"

"Well, we have a choice. _Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid_ of course. There's also _The Maltese Falcon, What's Up, Doc?, Dirty Harry, Spaceballs . . . "_

"Never mind that. What are we doing for snacks?" Dickins asked, rubbing his growling stomach. "Do you guys have popcorn up here in space?"

Boomer mouthed 'popcorn?'. "Uh . . . I don't think so. Mushies?"

"Sounds disgusting." Porter replied with a glance at his languatron. "But I'm willing to try it."

"What about you, Ama?" Chameleon asked. "Will you be joining us?"

"Chameleon, you have a talent for making it sound as though you're _personally _inviting me." Ama batted her eyelashes at the conman.

"If that's what it will take, my dear," Chameleon smiled. "I have a few ideas about how best to make your announcement for candidacy for the Council of Twelve. Perhaps we could discuss them . . . after dinner and the engagement party?"

"Sounds wonderful. But I thought that you would want to spend some time with your _son_. I'm sure you have much to discuss with him." Ama looked to where Starbuck and Luana were quietly talking aside from the others.

"I believe my son wants to spend a little quality time with his betrothed. _Not_ his father." He smiled, as Starbuck looked over upon hearing his words. The young man looked concerned for a moment. As though he was afraid he was slighting his father in some way. "And I don't blame him a bit."

Starbuck took Luana's hand, drawing her along with him to where Chameleon and Ama stood. "We _do_ want to spend some time alone . . . after the party. The last couple days have been a bit hectic."

Another entire day in the Life Station to get patched up from Guidobaldo and Dracus' ministrations. Debriefings. Filing reports. Fausto's tribunal, followed a day later by Guidobaldo's. His ongoing role as Liaison to the Earthmen. He'd barely had a moment to call his own.

"Does that mean you won't be coming to watch _Butch and Sundance_?" Dayton asked.

"I think we'll pass." Starbuck looked at Lu, who nodded her agreement.

"Then maybe I'll give Cassiopeia a shout." Dayton mused. "I owe her big for running out on her during the _Journey to Earth_ party."

Starbuck nodded, patting the Earthman on the shoulder thankfully. It could have been awkward had they all been there. They still needed some time and distance to heal before they could forgive and forget . . . especially Cassiopeia, who had a lot more_ to _forgive and forget.

"Well, what are we waiting for? I've made sure that Empyrean Ale and Tobacconists have topped up the stores in the Officer's Club. Let's go celebrate." Ama grinned, moving over to Adama.

"Ama's right," Adama added, motioning towards the door. The mood had taken a festive turn from the original debriefing. "Go!"

"That sounded like an order," Boomer grinned at the captain.

"Yes, it did."

"Wagon's ho!" Ryan shouted, heading through the door, his friends laughing and following in his considerable wake, the Colonials bringing up the rear. Ama hung back with Adama, Chameleon pausing at the door to wait for her.

"Do you feel like you're losing a son, Adama?" Ama asked, squeezing his arm lightly and looking in Starbuck and Luana's direction as they left his quarters.

Adama smiled, his gaze settling on the conman. "An _honorary_ son, perhaps. Starbuck will always have a place in my family, Ama. All the same, I'm only too happy that he's finally found his _real_ family."

"Thank you, Commander." Chameleon bowed his head briefly to the other and then took the hand Adama offered, relieved at his support . . . and at the fact that he hadn't yet been severely dressed down for his deception by the _honorary_ father.

"Now, Adama, you of all people should realize that you don't necessarily have to be _blood_ to be _family_. Starbuck and Apollo are the perfect example of that." Ama chuckled. "Besides, our former orphan has more family now than he knows what to do with. Even _I _consider him like a son. And my people hold their 'savior' dear to their hearts, especially now that he is marrying their princess."

"Hey!" a voice called from the doorway.

Starbuck smiled as he watched them discuss him. Adama, the father figure he had known since the Academy. Ama, the unconventional Empyrean woman who had offered him guidance and unconditional acceptance from the moment they had met. And Chameleon, his blood, his father, and his one link to his unknown past.

"Son?" Chameleon asked, as the warrior hesitated for a moment, standing back and just studying them silently. "Is something wrong?"

"Hardly, father," Starbuck replied with a smile, watching the old conman's face light up with pleasure. It was the first time the word 'father' had passed his lips. "I just wanted to make sure you were all coming. I . . . uh . . ." he stammered, unsure how to let them know how important it was that they _all_ be there to celebrate this event in his life. Luana suddenly appeared at his side, smiling at him with that look in her eyes that seemed to make uncertainty and awkwardness fade and a certain inexplicable happiness replace them.

"Of course, we're coming, dear heart!" Ama assured him with a laugh. "I admit that I'm so pleased that I almost feel as though I will _burst_."

"Indeed, Ama," Adama agreed. "I couldn't be happier. My blessings, and those of the Lords of Kobol, are with you both."

"And mine." Chameleon added, joining the couple. "Not only do I have a son, but soon I will _also_ have a daughter." He lightly kissed Luana on the forehead, and grasped his son's shoulder.

"Thank you. All of you." The warmth of Starbuck's smile encompassed them all. If it wasn't so damn wonderful, it would be cliché. Such was love _and_ family. . . and he was enjoying every micron of it.


	90. Chapter 90

Epilogue

Lords, the bed felt good. Maybe a bit _too_ good, Starbuck mused, his body sinking into the mattress wearily, as he looked around the luxurious suite that his father had somehow managed to finagle for him and Luana on the _Rising Star._ It was a suite like he had only dreamed of before—vague memories of two beautiful female cadets beating him at pyramid in the chancery and conning him into buying them dinner and a bottle of vintage ambrosa in a private room, all the time intending to seduce him —or was that only a dream from his overactive imagination? He smiled self-indulgently as he looked around his opulent surroundings. Overstuffed furniture, a tray of appetizers, the finest bottle of Proteus vintage ambrosa that he could afford—and which Ziebert had managed to wrangle all but his last couple cubits for. The massive bed was the focal point, with rich, burgundy and golden coloured covers, far too many pillows, and . . . a vibrating mattress. He chuckled as he popped a cubit in the coin operated control mechanism and the vibrations gently massaged his body. He'd always wanted to try one of these.

The engagement party had been a huge success, for an event that had essentially been thrown together on the spur of the moment by Apollo, Boomer and Lia. Every friend, acquaintance, and even the odd curious onlooker had joined in the gaiety. The mood had been exuberant with all that they had just survived.

He sighed, shaking it off. He really didn't want to run through the events in his mind anymore. Time to leave it all behind and begin anew. With Lu.

His eyes fell on the door to the turbo wash, where Luana had disappeared a few centons before. So many other women had disappeared behind such a door in a similar situation. Lords, too many to count. But this was different. Luana was the woman he intended to get sealed to.

_Sealed?_ He was still shaking his head at how that had come about. It had been more a bureaucratic maneuver by Ama, rather than anything really personal between him and Lu. Yet, here they were. They somehow knew in their hearts that it was right. Even if it had happened so  
. . . unconventionally. _Typically Empyrean, Bucko. Better get used to it._

He closed his eyes, realizing it had only taken the engagement party before innumerable people had started asking about how many _children_ they intended to have. Sagan, they'd barely made any plans for their sealing, and people were already asking about a _family_.

Not that he was opposed to having children. Just not _yet_. Maybe when they had safely found Earth. He didn't want _his_ kids being raised by someone else should something happen to him on the job. He intended to be fully involved in their lives when the time came for _him_ to be a father.

_Easy, Bucko. You're not even close to the sealing date yet. Here you've already got yourself settled down in Las Vegas with a brood of kids. Las Vegas?_ What the heck. It sounded like a nice town.

"Hey there, flyboy, don't go to sleep on me quite yet." Luana's voice purred in his ear, her fingers lightly caressing his face and then running through his hair as she leaned over him. Her eyes ran hungrily down the length of his body. His _fully_ clothed body. She grinned. She'd have to do something about that.

Starbuck captured her wandering hand, kissing her fingers as his eyes ran over her possessively. Her nightgown was a simple design, but it hugged her curves suggestively. Understated, very much like Lu, herself. But beneath the soft and comfortable material was the real prize. The woman he loved. "You look beautiful."

"It was the best I could do on short notice," she murmured, knowing that the ex-socialator probably had a vast array of elegant lingerie that was designed to tantalize the average male. Well, the way he was looking at her now, she realized she probably didn't need it. She leaned down and kissed him, breathing in his familiar scent. Fumarello, ambrosa, and that cologne that he always wore. On any other man it might seem overbearing. But on Starbuck, it was a teaser to her senses.

He pulled back, smiling as she quietly murmured her disappointment. "Wait a centon," he told her pulling her gently off the bed and to her feet.

Luana smiled, looking around again in bemusement at the luxury suite. "It's a far cry from the Fitness Center's equipment room, isn't it?"

"Doesn't have the view of the Celestial Dome though," Starbuck replied, running his fingertips through her long hair and touching his forehead to hers. They'd have far more encounters ahead of them in equipment rooms and Celestial Domes with both of them in the billets before they could apply for 'couples' quarters upon their sealing, unless he could figure out a way around the regs. "I love you, Luana."

She smiled up at him. "I love you too, Starbuck."

Gently, he gathered her hands in his, his thumb lightly caressing her fingers as he took a step back and lowered himself onto one knee. She could see his eyes misting up, and immediately felt a similar moisture gather in her own eyes. She drew in a rasping breath, as she awaited his words expectantly.

"Will you be my wife, Luana? Seal with me?" He blinked back tears, surprised how his emotions had overcome him so suddenly.

"You know I will. I already said, 'yes'. Didn't we just . . . have a celebration?" She replied, her voice also choked with emotion. It was like a beautiful dream come true. She pulled him to his feet and kissed him, feeling him tremble slightly as he then pulled her to him.

"To Ama, the Empyrean Quorum, _and_ the Fleet, you said 'yes'." Starbuck replied, nuzzling her hair. "I needed you to say 'yes' to _me_, Lu."

"I was only waiting for you to ask me, _Innamorato." _She whispered to him. "I love you, Starbuck. I'd be honoured to be your wife."

Then he kissed her again, slowly guiding her, backing them towards the bed, before she began to laugh at his obvious ploy. They paused together, holding tight to one another and simply enjoying the moment.

"I guess we'd better set a date then," he chuckled.

"Set a date?" She laughed lightly, reminding herself it was almost a yahren away. "Oh, Starbuck. Surely Ama's told you. She's set the date, started the guest list, posted an announcement in the IFB's Society Feature, and has even commissioned a dressmaker for the occasion."

"What?" his eyes went wide as he felt the control over his life slipping away through his fingertips like the sands of time. His mouth suddenly felt dry. He licked his lips. "_Ama_?"

"Of course, _Ama_. Who else?" Luana laughed. "And you know she wants to perform the ceremony in the Empyrean tradition?"

"Oh, Lords," he groaned. Just what exactly would _that_ entail? Crossing the Fires of Truth again? Sacrificing some more of his blood? Candle lit ceremonies? Empyrean Balls? He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat with great difficulty as he studied her amused features. It was as if she was reading his mind. He felt slightly abashed. "Save me from the Empyreans," he breathed with a wry smile.

She grinned devilishly and, hooking a foot behind his ankle, gave him a light push, tripping him onto the bed. "Oh, it's a little bit late for that, Starbuck."

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Fleeing from the Cylon Tyranny, the last Battlestar, _Galactica_, leads a ragtag fugitive fleet on a lonely quest . . . a shining planet known as Earth.

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Appreciation and thanks to Senmut for the loan of his original characters: Sire Memnon, Med Techs Tone and Waheeb, and Technician Hummer. Also for his eternal patience with edits, and his inspiring adds.


End file.
